Of Brothers and Bloody Messes
by SupernaturalFanPerson
Summary: Dean is furious when he discovers Sam hadn't given up drinking blood after all, but his anger is no match for the misery he feels when Sam gets fatally hurt and everything goes horribly wrong. Set after 4.20, PLENTY of bloody and Hurt!Sam and Caring!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, all. This story is an Ultimate Hurt!Sam, 'cause I love that stuff. :) It takes place after 4.20, The Rapture. I don't have much to say, just that I hope you like it!**

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><p><strong><span>Of Brothers and Bloody Messes<span>**

"_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."_

_~Friedrich Nietzsche_

"Dean, just let me drive. You're tired." Sam answered stiffly but surely, his voice tingling with annoyance at his brother's stubbornness.

The cold shoulder he was currently receiving is because of last week. The warehouse wasn't one of his best memories. As relieved as Sam was on arriving and learning Castiel was still alive, the demon blood... that's a different story.

And to go back to the motel and have to excuse himself to go scrub dried demon blood off of his face? Not one of his brightest moments. But now Dean knew the truth about what Sam's been doing behind-the-scenes and he was having trouble ignoring the sideways glances of disaprovement. The man was practically emanating in stenchy waves of disappointment. He'd believed Sam was done with that, and Sam'd let him down.

"No, Sam. It's my car. Don't want you screwing it up." Sam had to admit that stung a little.

"Dean, you've been driving for forever. All day. Just let me." Dean shook his head. "Well, why don't you just steer from there? You can use your nifty little psychic powers!"

Sam groaned, and even Dean realized how harsh this all sounded. But he was having trouble feeling sorry for his little brother. For God's sake, the kid's new hobbie is sucking blood!

Sam shaded his eyes as he sat upright in his seat, the sun slowly lowering into the mountain-bordered skyscape.

"Where's the nearest rest stop?"

"Dunno. A few hours at least. If you haven't noticed, we're kinda in the middle of nowhere."

Sam hesitated before continuing. "Look, Dean-"

"No. No, no, no, no. Don't '_Look, Dean_' me. We are not discussing this." The hunter stared adamantly ahead, watching the earthen landscape fly by. He might've offered to stop at the Grand Canyon if he was on speaking terms with his brother. It wasn't far, but he sure wasn't going to be the one to break and apologize first just to ride down a canyon sweating on a donkey. Probably surrounded by tourists, too.

"We've got to talk about this. If we're even going to think about doing a decent job together in wherever the hell we end up, we've gotta work this out!"

Dean chuckled. "Who said we're working together on the next case? Wouldn't you rather hang with Ruby? Bet _you_can take a hickey to a whole new level."

"Yeah? Who's going to do all your precious research? Stitch you up? Print new fake IDs?"

Scoffing, the older brother replied, "Who says I can't do all that stuff? Please, your useless. Maybe I should just dump your ass on the side of the road somewhere."

"Dean. Stop the car."

"No way. Why should I?"

"Be_cause_, Dean." But his companion wasn't getting the hint. "I've got to _go_." He hissed, as if someone would overhear them.

Finally, the eldest rolled his eyes and pulled over to the side of the deserted road. "Hurry up, or I'm really leaving you."

Sam muttered something profane as he slid out and slammed the door angrily behind himself. Dean watched as he disappeared into the brush on the side of the road a little ways away.

Figuring it would be a minute, he kicked back and turned up the music, Zeppelin booming through the car as he mouthed the words, silently grateful for some alone time when he was only halfway through what would be a very long, uncomfortable car ride.

Minutes passed as Dean grew increasingly impatient. _Come on, Sam. We got places to be. I want to be in the next town over by sundown._

Finally, he'd had enough. "Sam, zip up and get in the car already!" He called, locking the car door as he traipsed after his brother's path into the bushes.

But Sam was no where to be seen. "Sam?" No answer but silence. "Sam!" This time he heard a faint groan from somewhere below him. All the anger he'd felt for his brother less than a minute ago had vanished, replaced with worry as he jumped down the shallow cliff.

He couldn't see his brother anywhere and was digging through the overgrowth when he heard another soft groan. Dean quickly followed the sound, growing more and more anxious as he stumbled over branches.

They were on the side of a deep canyon, unnoticeable from the road, but apparently extremely dangerous if your trying to find a decent spot to do your business in the woods.

Dean nearly fell on his brother when he found him. Sam was breathing heavily, and the older brother saw a growing stain in his side.

"_Sammy_?" Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes already hazy.

"Dean?" He whispered.

"Yeah, I'm here." Dean looked closer at the wound and could just see the tip of what looked to be a very rusty knife. "Dammit." He couldn't leave the knife in there. Not when it was rusty and might cause an infection. He needed to get that out as soon as possible.

"Can you sit up?" Sam nodded, his eyes closed tightly in pain. Dean put one hand on Sam's back and the other on his shoulder. "On three: One, two, three." He gently pulled up on his brother, but had only gone a few inches when Sam's eyes shot open and he screamed bloody murder.

"Stop! _Please_! Stop!" Sam panted heavily.

"Okay, okay..." Dean held Sam up in the same angle, a few inches off the ground, and looked under him to see what the problem was. The hilt of the knife was lodged halfway beneath the surface, which explained why it'd been sticking up in the first place. It was just Sam's stupid luck to land on it.

He reached one hand under and dug around the leaves and hard dirt surrounding the knife until it was looser. "Again," Dean's voice shook as he turned to face Sam. "One. Two. Three!"

This time Sam sat all the way up, the knife as well. "Dean... It _hurts_."

"I know, Sammy, I know." He took off his jacket and his top shirt, trying to stop the blood flow. Within seconds the shirt was turning red. "We need to get you back up the cliff." Sam nodded.

"Can you stand up?" Dean asked. Sam nodded again, but when Dean pulled him to a standing position, Sam's legs buckled and he grabbed onto Dean's arm, pulling the older man down with him.

"Okay... It's okay." Dean said, sitting up.

Sam shook his head. "T-try again. Dean." No way was he going to be the deadweight Dean thought he was. He'd show him: he was strong.

He was helped up slowly, and this time he managed to stay that way, stumbling along as Dean half-dragged, half-carried him up the incline.

When they reached the car, Dean stopped. "I'm going to lay you down in the back, okay?" Sam nodded. He dug in his jacket for his keys, but came up with nothing.

"Crap!" Dean checked all of his pockets as Sam leaned against the car, barely awake. Even his lock picking kit was in the car. "I'll be right back." He hurried back down the side of the canyon.

_Like hell he'll be back_, Sam thought sleepily. _This is just a poor excuse to leave me._Foggy mind causing him to forget that Dean had gone to look for his keys and he would never leave without his precious Impala, Sam stumbled blindly towards the driver side door. He tried to yank on the handle, but only managed to stumble back. Sam probably would've fallen back down the canyon if Dean hadn't appeared out of nowhere to catch him.

"Woah, Sam." Dean led his bleeding brother back to the car and Sam vaguely heard the jingling of sleigh bells, though it might've been the keys.

"Thought you weren't c'ming b'ck." Sam breathed, and Dean felt a pang of guilt in his heart. Had he really been that harsh? He groaned as the hilt flashed in the setting sun. The hunter opened the back door and Sam practically fell in clumsily.

Dean grabbed everything he needed and hurried back to his brother, face down on the bench seat. "This is going to sting." Dean warned.

"Shots?" Sam mumbled into the leather.

"N- Yes." The hunter said on second thought. His brother was confused, that wasn't good, but at least he'd be more relaxed this way.

He was right. Sam's body, which had been stiff and tense before was now sagging with relief. He had nothing to be worried about anymore, it's just shots. Dean cut through Sam's shirt a little more in the back so he could work around the hilt. He cleaned the area around it but it didn't do much good- there was too much blood.

Dean couldn't wait any longer. Shaking hands attached themselves to the knife and pulled slowly as Sam sucked in a deep breath in pain. The knife finally came out and Dean threw it aside to assess the wound.

Sam groaned subconsciously and shifted slightly, hissing in the pain of the movement. This cut was deep, really deep. Dean was too scared to stitch it- so many things could go wrong. And if that rust had gotten deep in there for too long, keeping the infected area stitched closed wouldn't be a good idea. If doctors had to do anything they'd have to pull them out again.

Sitting his drowsy brother up, Dean wrapped the wound heavily, and Sam lay back down on his back, eyes squeezed closed.

Dean sped away, already dialing Bobby's number. Sam was breathing raggedly in the backseat and Dean grew worried for a moment that his educated guess about the knife not hitting anything major was wrong, but told himself otherwise. Their family was pretty practiced at almost-fatal wounds.

"Bobby..." Dean sighed in relief when the man answered.

"I was meaning to call you. Got a Rugaru I thought you guys might want to hit. That is, when your done with your case."

"Bobby." Dean repeated. That seemed to be all he could say.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Sam isn't, Bobby." Dean's voice cracked as he glanced back. "He got stabbed. We need help, but we're hours from civilization."

"Okay. Dean. I- I'll see if I can find someone in the area... Hang in there." Bobby hung up and the older brother turned to check on Sam again. He was shivering, staring at the roof of the car. "Sam?" Dean worriedly pulled over again.

Sam was vibrating, his face glistening in sweat, a sure sign of-

"Crap!" Dean yelled. "Fever..." He rummaged through first the glovebox, then everything else he owned for some sort of painkiller. Sam seemed uncomfortably asleep and Dean sped off in the direction of the nearest town.

Dean needed something to calm his nerves. Sam had woken up a few times, but he always went back to sleep after a while. It scared Dean how exhausted Sam was. Usually his brother tended to stay wide awake with a fever, giving him plenty of time to annoy Dean about it, but the older man sensed it was the stab wound talking.

If only Castiel was here, but last time they'd seen him he'd made it clear that he did not serve man anymore, only heaven.

Dean wanted the old Cass back.

He figured he was hallucinating when a light appeared out of the gaining darkness ahead of him. A mirage of some sort, it seemed to taunt him, with images of drugstores and medication and help.

As he got nearer, Dean floored it, in awe that maybe someone higher up really was watching over him. Did Heaven have guardian angels?

If it wasn't for the overall rundown quality of the place, Dean would've thought the flickering lights were a sign of demonic activity, but they seemed pretty average for a place like this.

He pulled into a spot and jumped out, touching his little brother on the shoulder. "Sammy? Can you stand up?" Sam groaned and opened his eyes enough to make eye contact and shake his head.

"Okay..." Dean said, stuffing his gun into the back of his pants. "I'll be right back, I promise." He left the motor running to help cool Sam off and locked the car door before stepping into the Grab'n'Go.

The tingling of the bell raised the old man at the register's head and he seemed surprised to see a customer. Dean nodded seriously and grabbed everything he thought he might need, including bandages, every medicine he could find that might help with the pain, a bucket in case there was a repeat of Sam's puking, and some bottles of water.

"Everything all right?" The man asked at the nature of Dean's purpose.

Dean ignored the question. "How long until we hit town?"

"A few hours still." He replied, bagging the items at snail pace. "Don't ask me why they built a convenience store in the middle of nowhere."

Dean frowned and glanced at the Impala, dropping the glass of beer he'd been holding with a shatter. "Sam!"

He dropped his stuff and ran past the confused older man until he reached the car and the thieves trying to break into it. Apparently they hadn't noticed Sam in the backseat, too tired to speak up.

"Drop it now!" One man said, countering Dean's cocked gun for his own aimed at Sam's head. So they had noticed him. "Or I blow his brains out." Dean backed off and dropped his gun reluctantly.

"Now back away from the car!" Dean did as he was told and prayed to god the old man inside wasn't oblivious. One of the posse punched out the window on Sam's surprised face and unlocked the door.

He dragged Sam out, a knife held dangerously against his throat. "D-don't hurt him!" Dean yelled.

The man snickered and began to move him towards the door when the other stopped him. "Hold on, Brent, this one's already hurt!" Brent stopped and looked down at Sam, now unconscious. He shrugged and continued making his way to the door. "In! Now!" He ordered. Dean stepped over spilled beer and broken glass as he moved into the shop and watched Sam being manhandled.

"Put 'im on the floor." Brent pointed his gun at a corner, where Sam was limply set down.

Dean moved to take a step forward. "Freeze! Or he goes!" The gun pointed at Sam again.

"Come on, man." Dean tried to reason logically. "You wouldn't really just kill someone cold-heartedly for no good-"

The gun went off with a bang and the old man behind the counter fell dead to the floor, his ruby red blood instantly pooling.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Dean spat, honestly stupefied the man had followed through. "What the hell?" He pulled out his back up gun. Now was his chance, but he didn't even get a chance to think about pulling the trigger.

"Drop. The gun." The bearded man repeated, gun aimed ruthlessly at Sam, who had woken up and was staring droopy-eyed at his brother. "Now." Dean raised his hands and dropped his gun to the floor with a clang that sounded throughout the empty drugstore. That sound would be seared into Dean's brain forever, of his gun falling, and his attempt to either save his brother by complying or foolishly letting go of his only weapon.

"Alright, we're empty-handed. Just take what you want and go."

The man smirked. "It's not that easy. We can't have you or your friend chasing after us."

Dean glanced at his brother, worry frowns still showing despite his pain. "Sammy won't hurt a fly." _At least, not until he's fit enough to kick your ass._

"That's enough! You're done!" The man snarled angrily and frustratedly.

Sam was slipping from consciousness even faster. "D'n!" He whispered. Dean ran over even as the robbers screamed for him to stop.

"D'n..." He repeated, inches from his brother.

"Sammy. It's alright. You'll be okay-"

"_No_! Dean, I w'n't. 'n you know it." He paused to catch his breath. "D'n?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"I love you." Neither brother, born on the rough road of stitching cuts and killing at ten, had ever said this, for fear of being teased, but now it resounded through the room, brotherly words unsaid but always felt.

Dean held Sam sadly, tears in his eyes. "Love ya too, Sammy." Sam closed his eyes and as the butt of a gun slammed into Dean's head he smiled. It was barely there, but the last thing he remembered before blacking out was the feebly desperate sound of Sam's heart thumping.

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><p><strong>Ta-da! Part one! Oh, the blood! The misery! Anyway, I hope you liked it! Please review if you did! I'd really appreciate hearing from you! Those following my other story, Flawed and Perfect, don't worry, I'll post there soon, too. Until next time, Thanks for reading!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Yay! Second chapter! Finally, some Hurt Sam to make up for our lack of new Supernaturals for a couple of weeks. ;) Without further ado...**

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><p>"We're looking at a high Class 3, possibly 4 here. Hypovolemic shock most likely." Dean opened his eyes to slits as he watched his limp brother surrounded by a mass of people.<p>

"S'mmy..." He slurred, but Dean wasn't even sure he made a sound. "Sam..." Before he could gather anyone's attention, his eyes had closed again...

Dean woke up slowly, his eyelids heavy and tired. He couldn't feel Sam's heartbeat anymore. Where was it?

His eyes snapped open and he was shocked to find out he was sitting in front of a large group of people.

Flashing lights hit Dean's eyes from outside the store and only then did he acknowledge that the people before him were paramedics. Looks like that old man didn't die for nothing after all.

"Hold still." One man said, pressing a bandage to Dean's head. Dean felt blood running down the side of his neck, which only stopped once the bandage was firmly in place.

"Where's Sam?" Dean questioned. The man turned to one of the women behind him. She whispered something to him.

"Sam Johnson?" Dean nodded. Sure, whatever. "He left already. He went up in the copter... five minutes ago? He seemed to be in a more desperate situation."

Dean groaned and touched his hand to his head. "Take me to him."

The paramedic shook his head. "Sorry, son, he's in ICU. But tell you what, we'll take you to the same hospital."

Dean nodded and protested as he was put on a stretcher and loaded into another ambulance.

"What about the other guys?" Dean asked in the ambulance, grabbing one of the medics' attention.

"Not now." The man said, taking Dean's blood pressure. "Worry about your health."But the only thing Dean could worry about was Sam.

**...**

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The first thing Dean saw when he woke up was white. White ceiling, white walls, white bed, white sheets, white everything. It smelled like cleaning products, so sterile it made his skin crawl.

Dean sat up and felt the back of his head, bandaged but better. he gathered his bearings, attempting to recollect what had happened. Sam.

With a wince, Dean yanked his IV out and stood up, ignoring the fact that he was in a hospital gown. "What do you think you're doing?" Crap, he didn't get far at all.

"I-I was just-" The young nurse's ponytail swung as she guided him back to his bed. "Down, _now_."

"I want to see my brother." Dean told her. "I need to. He's okay, right?" The nurse picked up the clipboard by his bed and flipped through a few pages. "Sam Johnson... Oh. _Oh_. Um, I'll see if I can arrange a visit for you." Dean nodded thankfully, but her tone as she'd read about his baby brother freaked him out.

"Dean?" Another reason Dean hated doctors. The man knocked on the door when it was open. What was Dean supposed to say to that? Come in? Stay in? He settled on looking up an making eye contact.

"You're doing better. You've been out for two days." He said. "By the way, I'm Dr. Bennett." Dean shook the man's hand weakly.

"My brother?"

"Oh, yes, about that. You seem to be his only living family member in our records."

"That's correct."

"I hate to ask, but I'll need to see your insurance?" Dean looked around and noticed a small pile of his possessions on the table beside him. "I didn't want to just take it, you know?"

Dean gave a very fake smile. "Yes, you're _so_ polite, now take me to my brother."

Dr. Bennett sighed. "Alright, but if you get dizzy I'll take you straight back to your room." Dean waved him off, though the second he stood up the room began to spin. After steadying himself, he followed the doctor out of the room.

They traveled down the hall and passed into ICU, at which point Dean's heart began to beat faster. "In here," He pointed into one room with Sam's current name on the door.

Dean stopped at the sight of his brother. Pale, bruised, and unconscious, he lay deathly still. Dean thought people were supposed to look peaceful when they were like this, like they were sleeping. Apparently, Dean didn't get that privilege.

"Break me down easy." Dean mumbled, pulling up a chair next to his brother.

"When we found you two, Sam had been stabbed in the side, presumably by the thieves?"

"Y-yes."

"Well, he'd lost a very large amount of blood- what we'd call a Class 4, which is a lot of blood. That's where the transfusion came in. You're lucky, too, we almost didn't have enough."

Dean took in all the information. "So because of the blood bank, Sam's alive?"

"No. There were still other problems." Dean frowned.

"After we got that situated we focused on the infection and, therefore, the fever." Dean glanced at Sam's clammy skin. "Hopefully with antibiotics, it'll work itself out, but until then we'll keep him closely monitored."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's been waking up for a few minutes at a time, but until the fever breaks we won't know what further steps to take."

"Can I stay in here?" Dean asked, though he had no intentions of leaving either way. To his surprise, Dr. Bennett nodded. "Let's get you some clothes."

**...**

Dean was filling out paperwork next to Sam when he finally woke up again. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with his hands, looking around in confusion. "Dean?"

Dean quickly set down the clipboard and touched the hand his brother reached toward him. Sam relaxed at the contact. "Don' feel so bad today." He announced, proudly. "We can leave."

Dean smiled a little. "Not yet, almost. Just as soon as you feel a hundred percent."

A nurse bustled in, armed with tools, followed by a woman carrying trays. "Food?" Sam questioned. The nurse chuckled. "Not until you let me take your vitals."

Sam complied as the thermometer was stuck under his tongue.

"Chicken noodle or tomato?" The older lady asked when a path had finally been cleared for her.

"Neither, I'm not hungry." Sam explained. The woman pursed her lips and set a bowl of tomato harshly onto Sam's tray, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the edge.

Sam pushed the bowl away.

"Sam, you need to eat. You've been out for days."

But Sam's face turned an ugly shade of green as he stared at the food. "Ugh, I can't, Dean."

Dean sighed at Sam's pleading eyes to let this one go. "Fine. You'll eat soon?"

Sam nodded, but not convincingly. "Of cour-" He gave a large, racking cough that shook his whole body. Dean watched nervously as he quivered in pain.

"Sammy?" Dean put his hand on the small of Sam's back. "Are you okay?"

Sam clutched his abdomen right where he was stabbed. Dean realized for the first time the large bandages wrapped around his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Sam choked out. "It just hurts a little, that's all."

"The stitches?"

"Uh-huh." Sam grimaced and laid back down. "Look, I'm kinda tired so..."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean hope the cough was nothing. Sam was getting better, so this wasn't supposed to happen. "You get some sleep."

Sam turned and pulled the sheets up to his chin, twisting on his side and closing his eyes. Dean sat back in the chair and tapped his pen in thought. The cough is nothing, he thought. Nothing at all.

**THREE DAYS LATER**

"Dean?" Dr. Bennett motioned to him as Dean unfolded himself from the chair and glanced at his sleeping brother. "Is Sam ready to leave?" Dean asked hopefully, grinning. He'd called Bobby and told him to come and grab the Impala, but hopefully it wasn't necessary after all.

Dr. Bennett sighed and scratched his head. "Actually, that's what we needed to talk about." Dean's smile vanished. "What's wrong."

"Have you noticed your brother's eating habits?"

"You mean his lack of appetite?" Dean asked.

The doctor nodded. "A big lack. He hasn't been eating at all. Dean, it's serious, I'm sorry to say we can't release your brother as planned."

Dean's jaw dropped. "W-what?"

"Sam has anorexia."

"Oh, come _on_, Doc, Sam has very high self esteem." Come to think of it, Sam hadn't been eating much, but when he did he usually threw up. Dean had thought it was just the fever.

"This is no funny business, son, it could be a sign of many problems."

"Like what?"

"Chron's disease, pneumonia, cancer, depression, AIDS, tuberculosis-"

"I get it but- he'll be okay, right?" Sam stirred. He was still young, not ready for this.

The doctor shook his head seriously. "Probably not."

Dean fell into his chair in shock, the back of the seat banging against the wall loudly. Sam woke up with a start. His face was sunken, his eyes more tired than before.

"What's going on?" Sam asked innocently, brow furrowed in confusion.

Dean opened his mouth to answer but Dr. Bennett beat him to it. "You're most likely going to die."

Sam choked on the water he'd been sipping, swallowing harshly as his face paled. "Dean... Is it true?"

Dean cursed and faced the doctor angrily. "Well, don't sugar coat it!" Add abruptness to the list of reasons he hated doctors. He turned back to face his little brother and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Sammy."

Sam smiled sadly, doubt clear on his face. "Sure, Dean,"

**...**

Bobby felt uncomfortably awkward as he walked down the hall. The Impala's keys jingled in his pocket and he had the feeling the food he'd brought for the boys was going to get cold if he didn't find Sam's room soon.

_663... 664... 665... 66-_ There it was. Bobby approached the doorway but stopped in his tracks.

Dean and Sam were hugging, which made sense considering what they'd just been through. Dean's back was to him and he was shaking, his arms wrapped around his brother, almost as if he was... crying.

Sam looked up and Bobby noticed his pale skin and sickly shape. Ah, crap, Dean'd said Sam was getting better, but this wasn't better.

Sam shook his head subtly. He knew Bobby, being an old softy, would want to know what had happened. His head shake gave Bobby the impression that the brothers needed some alone time, obviously, and he nodded.

He'd just wait out here. Bobby knew Dean would kill him if he realized Bobby had seen him crying. But he also knew something else. Whatever happened to Sam, Dean would want to go after the men that brought this all on his only family. And he'd kill them all.

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><p><strong>Another chapter! Any reviews are welcome. I appreciate any alerts or favorites, too. I'll try to update faster next week!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Another chapter! Hope the Hurt!Sam is going well... Anyway, thanks for the reviews and alerts and favorites, etc. Here you go:**

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><p><strong><strong>Bobby sighed as he sat down in the chair next to Sam's bed. Sam, who had managed to fall asleep eventually, was curled up beneath the thin sheets of his bed.

"So, anorexia?" Bobby spoke. Dean paced the room, never looking up from the cracked vinyl tiles that covered the hospital floor. "That's right." Somewhere outside the hallway a code yellow was issued and a few nurses ran past. Dean wondered if it was serious.

"Any idea why?"

Dean shook his head. "They're running some tests." He said. "But we won't know for sure until later."

Bobby stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay, son. That doctor doesn't know Winchesters. They don't keel over and die in hospitals." Dean coughed and rubbed his eyes. He wouldn't mention that John had actually died in a hospital, too.

"Unless Sam starts eating soon, they'll go ahead and diagnose him. If he does eat, they'll consider it some side effect of the fever." Dean kicked the wall, his fists balled in anger. "It's those thieves' fault. And the police are doing nothing about it." He continued.

"They're doing their best." Bobby promised.

"Well, their best is horrible." Dean grumbled. "Sam can't just starve to death, even if it's not a symptom of one of those other illnesses."

"He'll be fine."

"He's just a _kid_. I don't want him worried that this'll end badly. He's always optimistic but he just seems so depressed lately."

"I'm right here, Dean." Sam interjected. Bobby and Dean looked over at him. "I promise I'll try to eat, but I'm not hungry."

Dean kneeled down next to him like he was talking to a toddler. "No, I know, Sammy, I do. It's just- you're scaring me." He choked out.

"You're mad at the men." Sam said. Dean gave a light, airy laugh and looked down at his hands. "Yeah, guess I am. No sense in hiding it."

"Just don't do anything stupid." Sam said. Even sick, he was the voice of reason.

"Knock, knock," The doctor entered the room. Sam sat up and Dean met Dr. Bennett halfway to Sam's bed. "So?" He asked eagerly. "What's going on."

"You might want to sit." Dr. Bennett warned. Dean waved off his suggestion. "Just hurry up." He urged the doctor impatiently.

He sighed and set down his clipboard.

"Sam has a form of cancer."

Dean wished he'd sat down. Bobby was suddenly at his side, lowering him into the chair. A nurse popped her head in. "I'm sorry, Dr. Bennett? It's an emergency."

"Excuse me." He muttered, speed-walking out to the hallway and following the nurse towards the surgery wing.

Sam stared at the sheets on the bed, his hollow eyes unblinking. His mouth was slightly open as the information sunk in.

As he sat still, Dean's breathing was growing calmer and he stood up, trying not to look at Sam's shocked and hurt expression, instead waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"Dean-" Bobby said, but Dean was out of there, the dizziness subsided and the need for fresh air apparent.

"I'm going for a ride." He muttered, grabbing the keys and his jacket. He pushed past Bobby and out into the hall, past open doors full of sickly patients, past crying families and serious doctors, until he reached the fresh air of the parking lot.

Dean just needed to be somewhere else. Sam? Cancer? No. He didn't need to stay and find out what kind of cancer, 'cause his little brother needed him. He was going to hunt down those sons of bitches, and then he was going to kill them. Slowly. Hopefully he'd come across a crossroads demon along the way, but if not, he could always find one.

After all, Dean was willing to make any sacrifice. He needed his Sam. Sam with long hair, not bald for treatment. Sam cracking jokes and teasing, not serious and deathly ill. Most of all, he didn't want a Sam without hope, and he still couldn't get the look on Sam's face out of his damn head. Blank, emotionless eyes, like he just doesn't care anymore.

He was in the car and speeding towards the highway in minutes. First stop, the drugstore where it all went down. It was a few hours away, but he figured if he stepped on it he could almost make it in two.

Dean's cell phone bleated shrilly, jolting him out of his thoughts. It was Sam.

"Hey." He answered, his free hand tightening on the steering wheel in anticipation of whatever it was Sam had to say.

"Hey, Dean."

"I'm just going for a drive." Dean lied as he finally pulled out onto the interstate.

"Whatever it takes to cool down, Dean. I just thought... you might like to know. The doc came back. Definitely cancer."

Dean sighed, slamming his hand on the wheel. There went his last sliver of hope that someone had gotten it wrong.

"Leu- Leukemia, actually."

Dean was silent as he took in the information. He sucked in a deep breath and breathed out slowly. "How?"

"Some virus from the infection when I was stabbed." Dean laughed sadly, shaking his head.

"Jesus, Sammy, some predicament we've got ourselves into." Sam chuckled awkwardly. "Yes, yes it is."

He hesitated. "You're not thinking about those men again, are you?" Dean scoffed.

"Naw, the farther from us they are, the better."

"I don't believe you." Sam replied shortly. "I think you're feeling more 'the sooner my shotgun's blowing their brains out, the better."

"Oh, come on, Sam."

"No, I mean it. Hey, and will you get me a deep fried Twinkie? They're officially on the bucket list I've just created."

"Stop it, Sam." Dean admonished. "Talk to you soon." He flipped the phone shut and groaned. Sam. Leukemia. And he was taking this better than Dean was.

A little voice in the back of Dean's head was nagging at him, the unspeakable idea whispering in his ear. Sam was taking his death sentence considerably well, but had the thought ever occurred to Dean that Sam wasn't upset about dying? Leaving forever?

The thought worried him. Suicidal Sam. Kind of rolled of the tongue. But Dean had more pressing matters at hand. Like finding those murderous thieves, and a crossroads demon, and Sam's hope.

He stopped at a motel, ignoring Bobby's calls and texts. That night he slept soundly. That is, until the nightmares started. Sam swinging from the rafters, Sam falling off the bridge like a rock, Sam's blood and guts repainting the wall, the warm handgun still smoking after he'd aimed it's muzzle against his temple.

Sam- dead.

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><p><strong>So, Dean's thinking Sam might not be so bummed about the cancer? He has his own way of dealing though- revenge. I'll try to update next week so you can figure out where Dean's confused feelings and Sam's sickness is heading. Until then, please review if you liked! I'll update next Tuesday!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so excited, everybody! I like where this story is going this chapter... Anyway, thanks for any alerts, favorites, or reviews. (Sorry I couldn't respond this week!) Here's the next chapter:**

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><p>The sun was just touching the horizon when Dean made it to Grab'N'Go. This was the kind of sunset from those westerns Dean loved, but now was far from the time to reminisce.<p>

He couldn't help but shudder when the bell jingled at his entrance and the familiarity of the place sent a shiver up his spine. The pinkish stains on the floor only seemed to reverberate the sickly memories.

"Help ya?" A younger woman asked. She must be in her late twenties, hair pulled back in a low braid and eyes tired but kind.

"Uh, yeah." He pointed at the surveillance camera eyeing them from the ceiling. "I'll need a copy of your footage from every camera you have installed," He instructed, flashing an ID of some sort. He honestly had no idea which one it was, nor did he care.

"Oh, sure." She stated quickly. Dean gave her the date and roughly the time, mentioning the event.

"Murder?" He tried to jog her memory. "Two thieves, two bleeding men, and a shot older fella..." Her face was stoic as she nodded, but Dean wasn't so convinced.

"Come on, little place like this, something like that's gotta be memorable-"

"I remember." She said bluntly, her face emotionless. "That man was my grandfather." Without another word, she disappeared into the back room, slamming the door noisily behind her. Dean cussed himself. Just like him to make a horrendous first impression. Sam was always the one who gently consoled and questioned the witnesses. Yet another reason Dean couldn't live without him.

"Here they are." She pushed the tapes to him across the table.

"I'm sorry." Dean said, trying to patch things up. "I didn't know..."

She shrugged. "It's alright. Did you want to watch those?" Dean followed her gaze to the video tapes, then glanced at the TV suspended from the wall.

"If you wouldn't mind." He answered. She popped the first one in. It was from the inside, a close to arial shot of the hold up. Dean told her to find the one for the parking lot. No way was he reliving this, and from her expression they seemed to be on the same page. The screen went fuzzy until she switched out the tapes, then he was watching a clear view of the parking lot.

There was the Impala, hurt and broken, and beside it a larger van. He watched as the men ran back out and jumped in, quickly speeding away. "Pause it." She did so, and Dean jotted down the barely perceptible license plate number. He also noted that the twosome drove off in the direction they came from, away from the small town a few miles in, and heading back towards the wilderness and the Grand Canyon.

He was about to leave when the girl called, "Wait!" And he listened, returning in case she'd found something of importance.

"That's... _you_..." She muttered in recognition. Sure enough, there was Dean on screen, being transported into the ambulance by stretcher. "Oh... no. No, it's not."

"Yes it is!" She said. "That's _to_tally you!" Her hand hovered over the phone receiver beside her. "You're no cop. Tell me what's really going on or- or- I'll call the real police."

Dean had to admit, she was smart, but he couldn't risk the Feds getting involved. "Alright," He put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "But you've gotta hear me out."

She motioned him around behind the counter. "The truth?" She asked.

Dean sighed. He began with the basics, the whole Monsters Are Real speech, followed by a run through of what he and Sam did. "You saw what happened when I came in for supplies." Dean said, waving his hand in the general direction of the screen.

"So... what about Sam?" She asked, and seemed genuinely worried.

"He's not okay." Dean paused before continuing. "The virus- from the stabbing and then no treatment for a while, plus the blood loss and other things..." His voice trailed off and she waited politely for him to continue. "Leukemia, they say. But- I can't be with him. Something's just not right about sitting at his deathbed while the killers run free! Not to mention, I'll have to find some hoodoo curse or something to help him."

She cleared her throat before talking. "The men that hurt your brother?" She asked. "And killed my grandfather? You want revenge, right?"

Dean nodded. Lips pursed in deep thought, she pulled open a drawer and Dean caught a glimpse of the fun that lay inside. She held the weapon in her hands like a foreign object and set it on the table. "Count me in." She said.

**...**

Dean didn't know what to think when he asked the girl- her name was Claire- what she preferred to listen to and she responded with "anything Zeppelin." This girl knew him inside out, like they'd met before. They seemed to have the same tastes.

"What're you going to do about the store?" Dean asked at her suggestion to join him. She continued pulling her hair down and brushing it out as she talked and packed at the same time. "It was my grandfather's." She explained. "And I'm kind of alone out here, so I'll just close up for a while."

Dean didn't mind the company, as it often managed to take his mind off of Sam. He'd been gone for one day and had kept in touch, but only briefly. He thought maybe, if he just got rid of the cancer, Sam wouldn't be so glum. He said over the phone that he was just upset, but he seemed so calm.

"I guess I just felt at peace." Sam said. "I always thought my death'd be painful, so this isn't all that bad." Dean didn't know what to say to that.

"You're not going to die." He told him slowly.

"You don't know that. I could die tomorrow!"

"So could_ I_!" Dean argued.

"Well, that doesn't count. You know our line of business." He sighed through the phone. "Look, I don't want to fight, Dean." He sounded tired and sick, and Dean wished he was there, just like he had every minute since he stormed out.

He couldn't explain it- besides, chick flick moments were out of the question- and Sam seemed to understand. Crotchety old Bobby, on the other hand, was great at holding grudges, but they all knew he wanted those men gone just as much as Dean.

"I don't either." Dean replied sadly. "What're the doctors saying?"

"Nothing much."

"Are you eating?"

Sam hesitated. "Not much..."

Dean groaned. "Put Bobby on."

"But-"

"Put Bobby on." Dean heard some rustling as the phone was transferred from hand to hand.

"Hello?" Bobby's rough voice answered. Dean couldn't help but smile at the sound of the old friend's voice.

"Hey, Bobby. So, is Sam really eating."

"No." Bobby said.

"Well... Guess I know who I can't trust for information anymore." Dean muttered.

"It's not that, son." He lowered his voice, so Dean figured Sam was attempting to eavesdrop. "He's ashamed, but I swear, he can not physically eat! They ended up sticking an IV in 'im just to keep him alive!"

Dean heard the muffled sounds of people talking. "Look, I've gotta go, but I'll talk to you soon."

"Take care of Sammy," Dean told him remorsefully. "He sounds horrible."

He hung up with a beep and focused on the road again, Claire watching him worriedly from the passenger seat.

"You okay?" She asked. Dean nodded. "'Cause it's okay to be upset, you know." Dean gave a painful smile. "Yeah, I know."

"Maybe some music will help. When I'm stressed, I always listen to Metallica."

"Me too." Dean turned up the music, loud enough to penetrate his soul, and drown out his thoughts until he couldn't hear his worries and troubles over the blare of the classic rock. And Sam wondered why he liked such loud music.

Dean looked over at Claire again. "You know, this is one of my favorite songs." She said. Claire smiled a little and Dean smiled back, wondering how she could be so cheerful after so much had gone wrong for her. They hadn't seen society since they left yesterday, but Dean knew this was about how long for him and Sam just a little more than a week ago. It seemed like forever.

She began tapping her hand along with the music, but it didn't make sense. Claire had been really close to her grandfather- the biggest reason why she'd wanted revenge- and was devastated by his violent death.

Dean chuckled to himself when she started humming and then singing the lyrics. "You, you're smothered in tragedy. You're out to save the world."

Dean caught himself off guard when he smiled, the first real one since Sam's accident in the woods.

"Misery. You insist that the weight of the world should be on your shoulders. Misery."

She smiled at Dean, her white teeth gleaming. Dean laughed a second, and just as surprising, time. Her voice was softer when she sang, like an angel, Dean reasoned. What would angels sound like if they existed? They would sound like Claire.

"There's much more to life than what you see." She finished. "My friend of misery..." Dean found himself smiling and laughing along with her. She was blushing. "I can't believe I just did that!" She laughed.

Hand over her mouth, she couldn't stop, and Dean joined in until they were both laughing so hard their sides ached. "I'm so embarrassed!" She squealed, but Dean didn't know why. _He_ thought her voice was beautiful.

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><p><strong><strong>**Oooooh... A new chapter. Did you like it? It wasn't the most exciting but there was a new character. If you have time, tell me what you think about her? I'll see you next week!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the next chapter! Happy Valentine's Day, or as Dean calls it, Unattached Drifter Chrismas! Thanks for the reviews and everything. It always makes my day. I didn't get to respond to all the reviews, but to LeighAnnWallace  and casammy, close, but no cigar. You're on the right track...**

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><p><strong><strong>They drove into the town around noon, stomachs growling and backs aching, ready to stretch their legs. Dean parked in front of a small diner and opened the car door, the slam of it closing jarring Claire out of sleep.

"Last town Sam and I were at." He explained. "The men came this way too." Claire stretched her arms and followed Dean into the quaint restaurant, where the bell jingled to announce their entrance.

"_Wel_come!" A cheerful older woman exclaimed. "Table for two?" She smiled widely and Dean nodded. "Right this way."

She guided them to a booth in the corner. "What can I get you to drink?" She asked. "Uh, Coke?" Dean said. He doubted they had anything alcoholic. This place was friggin' Pleasantville. She scrawled something on her notepad. "And for you?"

"Iced tea, please." Claire ordered pleasantly. Dean raised his eyebrows and she shrugged. "What?"

Dean just chuckled. "Nothing." Claire let it go, thanking the waitress when she returned with the beverages.

Dean ordered a burger hungrily, and Claire got a Caesar salad, sending a pang of sadness through Dean at how Sam she looked with her healthy meal.

"Wait!" Dean called after the waitress when she dropped by to check on them.

"Yes?"

"Seen any men lately? Tough looking, large, tattoos?" The woman thought for a moment.

"You know, I do vaguely remember a couple passersby. We don't get many strangers in town." She added.

"Great!" Dean shared a look with Claire. "Could you point us in their direction?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, sir, but you could check with Smitty. He's the mechanic." Dean nodded in thanks.

"Can I getcha anything for dessert?" She suggested. "We've got a great apple pie you and your girl could share-"

"No! I mean, no, we're not dating." Dean stated. "Just friends."

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry." The waitress apologized wholeheartedly. She began to walk away.

"Wait!" She stopped in her tracks.

"I would take that apple pie."

**...**

The mechanic was waist deep under a car when Dean found him, grease stained and dirty and blaring some sort of music Dean hated.

"Hello?" Dean called over the noise. "S-smitty?" The man rolled put from under the car, his age surprising Dean. He was young, mid twenties, probably about Sam's age. He stood up and wiped his hands on his clothes.

"That's me. What can I do for you Mr..."

"Just Dean."

"Alright, Mr. 'Just Dean.' What's up?"

"Seen any men? Strangers, with tattoos and... Muscles? Big guys, really."

"Sure did. Fellas gave me a bit a trouble what with the cost o' their fixin' up."

"They came to get their car fixed?" Dean asked.

"Yessir, they did. But they didn't like the price."

"I see. You wouldn't happen to know where they were headed?"

Smitty snapped and pointed at Dean. "You're in luck, my friend. They said they needed their car right quickly, 'cause they were fixin' to head to Las Vegas- rotten idea if you ask me."

Dean nodded in thanks and waved to Claire across the street. Before long, they were stocked up and on their way to Vegas.

They hadn't been on the road that long when Dean decided to check up on Sam. Bobby answered.

"Hey, Sam."

"It's Bobby."

"Bobby? Why are you answering Sam's phone?" Dean's voice hinted the worry he instantly felt. Sam. Leukemia.

"He's not feelin' too good today." Bobby said softly. Dean figured Sam was beside him.

"Can I talk to him?" Dean asked.

"'Fraid not. He can barely sit up, let alone talk, without puking."

Dean sighed. The further he got from Sam, the more he missed him. The more he hated himself for leaving.

"Fine," He answered reluctantly.

**...**

Dean was constantly calling now, always getting a worried look from Claire and the same answer from Bobby: no. Sam didn't seem to be improving, and Dean was just about to turn the car around when Bobby said yes.

"What'd you say?"

"I said, you can talk to him, but make it quick. He's not in his right mind, so don't go worrying him."

"I won't." Dean replied. "Now hand over the phone!" Dean waited impatiently as Bobby handed the phone to Sam. He heard little tidbits of conversations as Sam seemed to be protesting, but he wouldn't, would he?

"Hello, Dean." Sam finally answered monotonously.

"Hi, how are you, Sam."

"I'm-" Sam pulled the phone away and coughed harshly. "Okay."

"Oh yeah, you seem fine."

"I am."

"I'm worried about you, Sammy!"

Sam didn't say anything. "Sammy? You okay?"

Sam was muttering something. "This isn't supposed to happen..." Dean heard.

"What's not supposed to happen?" He asked. What was Sam talking about? "'Course I'm worried about you, Sammy. I'm extremely worried. Not a day goes by when I'm not scared it'll be your last. And I can't let that happen, Sam." He sighed and glanced over at an anxious Claire listening to him. "Your my brother, and you're my responsibility, not that I mind. I've had this naive idea that you'll never die, never even come close." He chuckled sadly. "But you've been diagnosed and now... I don't know why I left but-"

"I do." Sam interrupted.

"I know what you're going to say. Because I wanted revenge. Because my emotions were overwhelming. Because-"

"No." Sam interrupted again.

Dean sighed and hit his hand against the steering wheel, causing Claire to jump with a start. "Come on, I'm pouring out my heart, here. You're the one always telling me to wear my heart on my sleeve, so-"

"No, Dean. I know why you left." He coughed and didn't start his train of thought again, leaving Dean listening to the faint beeping sound on Sam's end of the line. "You left because... I made you leave."

Now Sam thought it was his fault Dean left. This was getting worse and worse. Because it wasn't Sam's fault. It was his, this foolish idea that Sam would be better off without him.

"Because... I put a spell on you." Sam said. Dean's jaw dropped. "What?"

"A- a witch. I looked through Bobby's contacts, found a good one that seemed helpful." Dean stopped the car and turned on the emergency light, pulling over to the side of the highway so he could fully pay attention to what Sam had to say.

"She kept you away, Dean. Sent you to kill those guys you wanted to kill." His voice got low and shaky and barely audible. "I thought it would be good for you. I thought it would make you feel better. It was supposed to stop you from worrying. You get dangerous when you worry. Almost suicidal." He whispered now. "The further away you got from me, the more worried you seemed to get, like the spell had more effect the closer we were together."

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean cussed, though he was more frustrated than mad. It was impossible be angry with his baby brother at a time like this.

"I can't reverse it." Sam whimpered. "I-I tried. Asked. And I don't know what happens when you get close, but apparently it's not good."

Dean sighed.

"I'm so sorry." Sam whispered. "I was sorry, the minute after I called. But it was too late."

Dean was silent.

"Dean?" Sam said. "Dean, I know you're there. So... Find those sons of bitches and kill 'em and... I'll hold down the fort 'till we figure this out." Dean didn't say a word, for fear of not being comprehensible.

"I miss you, Dean. Don't do something irrational, okay? Dean?" Dean stared ahead with the phone still in his hand, unsure what to think. What feelings were his, and what were just from the curse?

"Fine... Don't answer." Sam choked. His voice was raspy and uneven. "I'm so sorry." Sam hung up and Dean slowly pulled the phone down. He knew it was an accident, a hasty decision Sam had made for Dean's benefit. He'd been angry at himself for just leaving Sam like that, but now he knew why.

And it was funny, he thought, wasn't it? That Dean had spent his whole life protecting Sam and attempting to leave his side as little as possible, and that the one time his little brother had tried to return the favor he'd messed it up miserably. It was funny, wasn't it? No, he decided. It was a far cry from even worth a chuckle. This was nothing they would laugh about later, after everything was said and done. That is, if either of them got out of this alive.

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><p><strong>So, what did you guys think about Sam's mistake? This kind of changes Dean's perspective on, well, everything. If you get a chance, you could always review right friggin' now ;) I hope you got that reference. Otherwise I seem really mean! :) Anyway, I'll add next Tuesday! <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the next chapter! Thank you so much for any reviews, alerts, etc. It really encourages me to write! **

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><p><strong><strong>Dean turned the key and drove back onto the highway, ignoring Claire's worried expression.

"Dean, just _tell_ me what happened!"

"No." Dean gritted his teeth. For a little bit, he thought he might have feelings for Claire, but now he figured it was probably just the curse. Sam said it shouldn't affect his emotions, but what did Sam know? He was sick and- Dean didn't even want to think about Sam or leukemia or the fact that he couldn't see his brother if he wanted to.

"Sam cursed me." He answered. Claire gave him a funny look.

"Well, you guys both seem to cuss a lot, so I don't see-"

"No, no. A _real_ curse. With a witch." If he'd been in a better mood he would have at least smiled. Claire nodded in understanding. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about your... profession."

"I can't go near him. Otherwise something bad happens, we just don't know what, and we don't want to chance it." The Impala swerved a little as Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in habit to stop his watery eyes.

"Um, I think I should drive." Claire suggested. "You don't seem to be able to see straight. Besides, when was the last time you slept?" Dean realized how truthful her words were. He honestly didn't remember the last time he had a good night's sleep. Before leaving Sam? Before the cramped hospital chairs and doctors' diagnosis? Before Sam and he fought over the demon blood? God, that warehouse seemed like years ago.

Dean pulled off at the next exit and parked in front of a shady McDonald's, reluctantly handing the keys over and climbing into the passenger seat. "Just relax." Claire said as the engine rumbled. The car vibrated a little as Dean obtained a more comfortable position. "We're almost to Vegas."

Dean closed his eyes, listening to the purr of his car, and as his head rested against the cold window, he couldn't help but let his overwhelming thoughts drift away as he fell into a deep slumber.

**...**

Dean woke to the din of horns and the loud crashing sound of metal on metal as cars connected in the busy intersection before them.

"The hell?" He slurred, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. The sun was lower in the sky, and he figured without a glance at his phone that he'd slept a good four hours.

Claire was tense behind the wheel, her hand gripping it white knuckled as she stared wide eyes before them. Suddenly, she swerved to avoid the nearest car, but the road, slick and icy with the nearing wintery weather, sent them gliding along with no control.

"Step on the breaks!" Dean shouted.

"I am! I'm not stupid!" She screamed back, the both of them shouting out of fright and not true anger. "Watch out!" Dean cried at the last second. The cause was futile, and he cringed in anticipation of the crash.

It came almost in slow motion, the squealing of tires, Claire's screaming, and the ever-growing cars in front of him, closing the distance between them quickly until they made impact with a sickening crash.

The Impala jolted, scratching along a pickup truck, and Dean had a fraction of a second to look up before the lumber in the bed of the truck came rolling towards them, huge, no, massive logs hurling towards him and Claire.

Dean was already in a daze from the initial impact, and his weakened state was no help when the logs barreled through the windshield, shattering him in glass as a gigantic piece of wood shot towards him, knocking him right in the head.

Dean crumpled instantly in his seat, leaving Claire daringly to throw her arms out in front of him to block another two logs from hitting him. Distracted, she didn't watch a small minivan connect with another car right in front of her.

Dean blinked slowly in confusion as the minivan's driver sailed through the air and landed on the Impala's windshield. His vision was growing fuzzy, blackness moving in like a TV with no signal.

The woman crashed through the window and practically onto Claire's lap. The last thing he remembered was Claire's eyes, her expression as she screamed for help. Then the world turned to black.

**...**

Dean woke up in a hospital.

It seemed to be a trend.

His head felt like it was going to explode. Like, it was literally going to split in half.

"'m head..." He moaned to no one in particular. His eyelids weighed a ton, and it was only hunter's instinct to know his surroundings that forced him to heave his eyes open.

The room was empty, save another figure laying in the bed next to him. Dean sat up and winced as he pulled an IV out of his upper arm.

The man on the bed beside him coughed, his entire body shaking, as a nurse rushed in the room. She walked straight to the man, not noticing Dean at all.

"How are we Mr. Davis?" She asked softly.

"J-just fine. Just-" His coughs began again, the kind that made Dean want to clear his own throat.

"Let me get you your pills..." She turned around and almost ran right into Dean. "Mr. Bond! You're up! I'll have to ask you to sit back down, Mr. Bond."

She easily pushed Dean back towards the bed- he was still very weak- and he pressed her for information on the crash.

"Drunk driver." She explained, shaking her head. They say four had died, two in critical care. Dean and Claire had been lucky, but the minivan driver who'd flown out the window hadn't been.

"Where is she?" He asked. "Claire?"

"Claire L'amour?" Huh, Dean hadn't thought she was French. "That's the one."

"Room 342. But you just wait here and you can see her later, okay?"

"That sounds reasonable," Dean lied through his teeth, but the minute she left he stood up rather dizzyingly, swaying slightly as he changed his clothes. Thank God "Mr. Davis" seemed pretty out of it. Dean winced as he pulled up his shirt. His chest was covered in black, blue, and any color in between bruises, with a gash down the side, the most significant of the many cuts he'd received by being showered in windshield glass.

By the time he was dressed, Dean had regained his balance, thankfully, and casually walked out like he had a place to be.

He searched out room 342 easily, and found himself nervous for Claire, praying she was okay.

He knocked before entering, with no clue why, and found her sitting up and drinking a glass of water. "Dean!" She beamed, her eyes bright.

"Hey," He sat on the edge of her bed, glancing at the TV, Toddlers & Tiaras blaring tantrums in the background.

"How are you?" She looked pale.

"I'm okay." She played with her straw, not making eye contact. "You okay? You look like you just woke up."

"I did." He sighed before continuing. "Look, I've gotta go. Finish what I started."

"But you've been in an accident!"

"Just text me when you're out. I'll be worried." Dean patted her arm and turned to leave.

"Wait!" He swung around in expectancy.

"I'll come with you."

**...**

Dean knew the police would want to question them about the drunk driver. He'd heard the nurses talking on his way to Claire's room. So he wasn't surprised when they had just made it out the back- himself in normal clothes, Claire in a nurse's uniform- and alarms started to go off. A young doctor followed by a couple police officers stood at the hospital's back door. The doc pointed to where Dean and Claire stood frozen by a tall fence before the cops started running.

"Quick! Under!" Dean said, motioning them towards a small area where the fence had been peeled up like a banana. The recent rain caused a slick decent as Claire crawled under the wire.

The guards were gaining. Dean threw his duffel over the fence and slid under after her, spitting mud out of his mouth. "Disgusting." He muttered. The second he was out the other side, duffel slung over his shoulder, she grabbed his hand. "Go!"

Dean sprinted with her around the corner, glancing back to see the cops watching through the fence. One waved dismissively. "Okay," Dean slowed to a walk as they turned onto a back street.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Claire looked down at her shirt. The material was brown with mud, but tinted red. "Oh... I guess the fence got me."

Dean stopped her and pulled up her shirt a little. He sucked in a breath. "Not that bad, just, Uh..." He was covered in mud himself, nothing to staunch the blood flow with. "I dunno. Just be careful. We're almost to a motel."

The Easy Street Motel was run by a drunken werewolf-looking man who looked skeptically at Dean and Claire when they entered. Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and pulled out his credit card.

The man handed them a room key and, duffel in hand, the two found their room: C5

Claire stumbled into the room behind Dean and practically fell onto the closest bed, instantly covering the pasty white sheets with a mixture of blood and mud.

"Not yet," Dean said softly, holding out his hand to pull her up. "Follow me."

He guided her to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe off her face. "You need to clean up. Do you... Need help? Or..." He eyed the stain on her back.

"Oh, no. I-I got it." She assured him. Dean nodded and turned to leave her alone. "You know, you did pretty good back there." He said, as she started the water.

"Thanks,"

Dean nodded and closed the door behind him. It was only a few minutes before she came back out, wrapped in a towel and in search of some clothes. "Um..." Dean looked up from the TV. "Oh!" He stood up from the dirty bed. "Clothes... I'll get them." She whispered an embarrassed thanks as he quickly pulled a pair of her things out of the duffel.

She grabbed her clothes and raced back into the bathroom. Dean was peeling off his muddy shirt when she returned. "Hey. I'm gonna take a quick shower and then I'll look at where it nicked ya, okay?"

"Yeah, sounds fine."

Dean nodded and brought a change of clothing with him into the bathroom. Less than a minute later, Claire heard the water running and even heard a relaxed sigh as Dean stood under the hot water.

Claire pulled up her shirt and twisted to look at it. The cut wasn't too deep, just seemed ominous given the length. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but she figured she'd let the expert get a look at it first.

The shower turned off and Dean came out a minute later, seemingly rejuvenated, while she stood pacing back and forth in wait.

"Will you let me see your cut?" He asks, pulling on a shirt before she can notice the extent of his own injuries.

"Yeah, yeah, sure." They sit down on the clean bed and she pulled up her tank, revealing the slash across her back.

"You know, that's almost exactly where Sam got it." He noted out loud, gently touching the area around the cut. She was thin, the tan of her skin contrasting the ruby red of the bloody line.

"Let's just bandage that up." Dean decided, assessing his first aid options and deciding on a long, skin colored bandage. He sat behind her and peeled off the sticky flaps on the band-aid and covered the wound. "There. That should hold for now. We'll change it tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Then I'll find a cure for Sammy and kill those men."

"'I'll? What happened to 'we?'" She questioned.

"Yeah, about that... It's just- this is dangerous. And awkward."

Claire frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you liked me as a person."

"I do. It's just- you seem nice, but I can't trust my feelings when I know Sam's pushing me away from him like this." He sighed. "This... Connection... It can't be real. It's just the spe-"

Claire turned around and kissed him, the surprise showing on his face instantly turning to pleasure as he found himself disappointed when she pulled back. "Did that seem real? Or was that the spell, too?"

Dear God, Dean thought. Okay, so maybe he was wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have treated Claire like a child, shouldn't have pushed her away because of his guilty frustration towards his ailing brother. Maybe he should've realized his feelings for her, because, honestly, why didn't he turn her away?Tell her 'Hell, no!' at her prospect of joining him?

He could tell himself it was the spell, but all that old witch did was stop Dean from seeing his brother. If he got close enough, he'd suddenly lose interest and head away again. But it shouldn't affect his feelings, an idea that had just crossed his mind when Claire pulled him back again and, to his own surprise, he pressed her to him, never letting their lips part. Finally, they stopped to breathe, and Dean smiled at her with shock.

"That was real." He said, kissing her soft lips one more time because he finally could and she beamed back before he even stopped. "Why now? Why not before?"

"I don't know." She whispered, her lips brushing his as she talked. "It just... Seemed right, you know?"

"I do." Dean replied, holding her hands in his rough ones. "I really do."

She grinned and grabbed his shirt in her hands, pulling it over his head quickly. "Oh..." She breathed, her hand gently gliding down his front. At first he thought she was just in awe of his physical state, before he remembered where the bullet had grazed him. "Your hurt." She stated.

"It's nothing."

"No... It's something." She stood up and crossed her arms. "I'm not getting near you until you deal with that, Stubborn." She tried to be serious, but couldn't manage to keep the corners of her mouth from turning upwards. Dean raised his eyebrows and picked something out of the stash on the nightstand.

"There," He said, grabbing an antiseptic wipe and barely flinching at the sting. Then he lay back expectantly. "You coming?"

She bit her lip, smiling, and climbed on top of him. He put his arms around her, his hands in her hair, on her back, his lips against hers, her teeth, her neck.

"I knew it was you," She whispered. "When I first saw you. Love at first sight." Her hot breath was in his ear in the darkness of the room. "What about you?"

Dean smiled and rolled on his side until they were facing each other. "Me?" He replied. "You kind of snuck up on me."

**...**

Dean's eyes snapped open and he instantly realized how vulnerable he was. His arm was wrapped around Claire as the two cuddled under the covers, his weapons just outside of reach.

Dean wondered what had made him wake up with such a start when there was a knock on the door. He made eye contact with Claire, woken up in confusion, as Dean slipped out of bed and pulled on some boxers and jeans. He put a finger to his lips and grabbed his gun, cocking it quietly.

Claire pulled on a bathrobe and tried to follow him. "No!" Dean whispered, "It's not safe!" She jumped back in the bed, clutching the covers up around herself in fear as Dean stepped back and pulled open the door.

He raised his gun in front of himself protectively. "Put the gun down." Dean heard. "Now."

"Or what?" He taunted. The man before him looked familiar. Like... one of the men that had hurt his Sammy. Who, Dean thought, would never come alone.

Sure enough, from behind him came another chuckle and then an agonizing scream.

"DEAN!"

He whipped around expecting to see Claire hurt, in pain, even dying. Instead she pointed behind him, at the bathroom.

"WATCH OUT!"

Dean turned just in time to see a knife swing toward his neck. He ducked, but not before it sliced his brow, blood instantly streaming into his eye. Dean dropped the gun, and watched a foot kick it away towards the complete other side of the room.

Dean was seeing red, literally, desperately trying to wipe it away before it had deadly effects. "NO!"

He wheeled around and faced one of the men, the one without the knife. "Don't do this." Dean warned. He was good at hand-to-hand combat, but not the best.

Dean sent a fist flying towards the man's jaw when a booted foot caught him square in the back. He fell to his knees with a grunt and watched his blood fall on the carpet beneath him.

He tried to get up, stumbling and using his hands, but the nearest muscled man grabbed him in a chokehold. Dean squeaked and gasped for air, felt pressure added by a bony elbow beneath his chin.

It was a choke he knew all too well, one that John had made him practice time and time again. According to Dean's past knowledge and experience, he'd be out in a matter of seconds.

"Wait, wai..." He wheezed, clawing uselessly at the man's hands.

The blood flow to his brain was completely blocked, and before he knew what had happened his eyes had closed, his hands fell limply, and his body relaxed.

"No..." Claire whimpered as Dean's head lolled lifelessly. The blood speckled floor made her pale. "Dean!" Tears glistened as the blood ran into his mouth and down the side of his face. "No..." She whispered out of fright. Now that Dean was out of the way, well, she was next.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! If you get time, drop me a line and tell me what you think. I'll update next week!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Oh my gosh guys. Stuffs gettin' serious. Hope you like the chapter!**

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><p><strong><strong>Dean woke up slowly, making the motion to rub his aching head when he realizes his hands are tied behind him. Now, Dean's senses are in full alert. His eyes snapped open as he took in his surroundings. Tied to a chair, his range of vision wasn't extraordinary, but he was able to notice two very disturbing things. One, Claire was tied to another chair across from him, unconscious, and two, the thieves were nowhere to be found.

Then he heard a voice behind him, breathing hot breath in his ear. Dean flinched. "Hey, Sugar. Glad you woke up." He cackled like a witch and strutted to Dean's front. "My friend Seamus and I have a little something to settle with you." He pulled out a knife and began toying with it. "You see, I heard you were following us. I must admit, I was confused at first, but then I thought, 'Oh, that's right. He's from the robbery!' Tell ya, man, we just wanted the car. You made it a lot harder."

Dean struggled in his bindings, feebly attempting to loosen it's hold. Another man, the one with the knife, began circling him.

"I don't believe you've met Syd? He's new." Syd grinned a horrid smile with black and missing teeth before sitting on the couch to clean his nail beds with his razor blade.

"I didn't mean to hurt your brother, Dean." The thief went on. "Yes, I know your real name." He added. "But you got in the way, and it was so... easy. Like he was ready for me. Already injured and everything."

Dean shot him dagger eyes as he subtly worked at the ropes. "My friend? He'd say, 'Why not confront him now? Why wait 'till Las Vegas, Buck?' but I thought, nuh-uh!" Buck walked over to Claire and crouched down, tracing her lips with the tip of his blade. "He's got a pretty little girl with 'im now. Pretty, indeed."

"You stay away from her!" Dean spat. Buck raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at Dean's outburst. He whistled. "Well, well. Someone's got a thing for sleeping beauty..."

Dean slipped his wrist out of the rope, secretly smiling in triumph. "Hold on, Dean-o. I have an important call to make." Buck said. He turned towards the door, his back to the hunter, and Dean quietly set to work on his ankles. Prying at the rope with his fingernails, he cursed under his breath. Finally, the rope loosened enough for him to slip his foot out. After following the same process on the other foot, Dean sat up as if nothing had happened just in time for Buck to turn back around.

He kept his eye on the gun that laid forgotten on the floor by Claire's feet. "It's ringing," Buck whispered, as if Dean cared. "Hey, Seamus. Look, he's-" Buck stopped as Dean rolled to the floor, grabbed the gun, and landed on one knee, the pistol cocked and aimed at Buck's head.

Crazily, Buck didn't seem the least bit worried. In fact, he laughed. "Before you shoot, Dean, let me put my friend on speaker." Hands up in surrender, he pressed the speaker button on his cell.

"Kay, Seamus. Fill him in quick, he's got me at gunpoint."

Dean's hand tightened nervously on the trigger as Seamus's muffled voice began speaking. "Guess where I am!" He said. Dean heard nothing, just rustling. Then he listened closer, the sound of soft snoring filling the room. He heard mumbling, like someone talking in their sleep. "Mmmm... Nn'd. Mmm... 'De..." It wasn't. Couldn't be. "Dean..." Sam breathed in his sleep, and Dean's breath caught.

"Sammy!"

"He's got it!" Buck cried sarcastically. "And my buddy's managed to get him alone. So... You might want to think twice before firing that gun at me. The second Seamus hears that gunshot... Well, he's got a little deal lined up for little Sammy. A crossroads deal." Dean lowered his own gun with a frustrated sigh, but kept his finger on the trigger. He risked a glance at Claire. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep. Still out cold.

Buck smiled. "That's more like it. Drop the gun." It fell to the ground with a clunk. "Kick it over." Dean slid the gun to him, where Buck leaned down to pick it up.

"How the hell do you know about demons?" Dean sputtered in confusion.

"Daddy dearest used ta fight 'em. Then he died." He paused. "You know what they say, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!" He played with the gun, spinning it around his finger masterfully like a cowboy era gunslinger.

"They sent Pop up in record time. Twenty five years? Pretty low time to be spit back out as a demon. Couldn't keep that wild son of a bitch contained, I guess. But why am I tellin' you this?" He got back to the matter at hand as Dean focused on seizing his moment of opportunity when it arrived, after Sam was safe and Buck had hung up. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case.

"Alright, go ahead and seal the deal." Buck broke the silence and Dean's thoughts. Dean heard the faint sounds of kissing through the phone before he realized what was happening. For the moment, he ignored the fact that he had no weapon, and the curiosity of how Seamus actually managed to get the crossroad's demon into the hospital room.

"But- I gave you the gun!" Dean protested, torn over how to react. Buck just shrugged. "Couldn't have made Seamus drive all the way up there. You know how much gas costs right now?"

Dean growled and threw himself at Buck without thinking, overcome with rage. The surprise worked to the hunter's advantage and Buck seemed dazed as he fell back into a cement edge, his neck cracking horribly. Dean crawled towards his knife, fingers inches away when a shadow crossed over him and Claire screamed.

Eyes wide now, her gaze darted from Dean to Syd to the knife in his hand. "Don't move," Syd threatened. "Or Girly, here, gets it."

Dean took a deep breath and froze, but something in Claire's eyes told him not to listen to the jerk. They said to go for it, and Dean listened, landing a punch in Syd's jaw.

The man stumbled back and Dean scrambled for his gun, aiming at Syd just as he pulled his knife-clad hand upwards in preparation to stab, meeting Claire's terrorized eyes with vicious intent.

"No!" Dean roared, watching with satisfaction as the bullet lodged in Syd's chest, just below the neck. He fell back empty-handed onto the floor. Dean watch his wide eyes, his throat gurgling sickeningly as his teeth turned a tinted red.

Syd died, arms frozen like claws on the carpet. Dean turned back to an unconscious Buck, emotionlessly emptying his gun into the man's body before he covered him with a sheet so he didn't have to look at the ugly face of the man so cold hearted that he would send someone back to Sam as leverage to mess with Dean.

Sam. Who knows what that deal was about. He just hoped that wherever Bobby happened to be, he was back now and watching over Sam.

A groan brought Dean back down from his troubled thoughts, and he glanced over at Claire. "No!" His eyes were wide as he stumbled over to her. "No... It's okay, Claire. Everything's alright."

The hilt of the knife was visible in her stomach, but Dean couldn't fool himself. She wasn't going to survive a knife wound that seemed to go through her lung.

He untied her quickly and picked her up gently, tightening his hold as he walked on unsteady legs to the bed. Claire whimpered as he set her down, and Dean saw her eyes glistening.

Claire looked down and touched the bloody area. "D'n..." She whispered. She held out her hand and he took it, ignoring the stickiness. "Right here."

"D'n..." She repeated one more time, and with a strangled breath looked at the ceiling, her hand that had been squeezing Dean's turning limp.

"Claire." Dean shook her, but nothing happened. She was dead. He ran his hand over her hair and down to her face, closing her eyes.

He lay back against the headboard and closed his eyes, taking in everything that had happened in a matter of minutes.

Now the room was quiet.

He thought about Claire. She wasn't really a part of this. She said she had no family but her grandpa, had lived with him and run the shop. She was just like that old man. Both innocent, both dragged into this deadly mess by the Winchesters.

He'd salt and burn the bodies, burn the bloody sheets, get rid of any evidence that he'd ever been there. Then he'd pack up and head towards Sammy, no matter what the consequences. Whatever had happened, he needed to be there.

Dean was snapped out of his thoughts by Metallica, rolling off the bed and lunging at his phone spastically before it turned to voicemail.

"Go."

"It's Bobby, Dean." Bobby sounded horrible, or horribly scared.

"What's wrong?" Dean choked out, but he already knew. It's Sam, Dean, he's dying but you can't be there. Won't be there.

"It's Sam." Bobby hesitated. He sounded like he was going to cry, which really put Dean on the edge. Bobby was no crier.

"It's Sam," He said again. "He's really bad."

"I'm on my way." Dean pulled the knife out of Claire slowly, cringing, and wiped it clean of prints, pinning his phone between his shoulder and chin to use both hands.

"D'ya even know what'll happen if you do?"

"Hopefully nothing," Dean thought. "It might've just been to get me away. Sammy might've been wrong about the consequences."

Bobby sighed. "Let's hope so. Just hurry, idgit. Your brother's waiting for ya. And be careful." He hung up, and Dean continued with his tough task if destroying the evidence.

**...**

Dean dropped the last of the bodies with a grunt, covering them with the sheets. He'd put Claire to the side. He'd give her a proper burial.

He quickly doused the remains and sprinkled them with salt, before flicking out his lighter and setting them aflame. He watched it burn from his remote spot in the woods off the highway, where the smoke would be passed as a small forest fire.

Dean turned to Claire, salting and burning her, too, but with more care than was really necessary for a dead body.

He wished Cass would come. Come save the day like a guardian angel and for once forget about the devil-God crap and realize his friends needed him.

Deep down, he knew it wouldn't happen. Whenever Castiel went to heaven for "Revelation" he came back totally different. Dean's hopes weren't high in the winged department.

He was back on the road in record time, counting down the minutes until he reached the hospital and his brother.

Dean looked for signs of illness at fifty miles, twenty five, ten, two, and even on the elevator ride to Sam's floor, but he felt no different. No witchy symptoms at all.

Bobby stood when he walked in, face painted with worry and compassion as he walked towards Dean. Dean flew past him, acknowledging him with nothing more than a nod as he made his way to Sam.

"Dean?" Sam looked up with confused, feverish eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me." He took in Sam's pale face, his sunken eyes, and the way his arm lifted feebly to beckon Dean closer.

"You shouldn't be here." He whispered, the soft voice turning into a wheezing cough as he tuned away.

Dean smiled sadly. "Couldn't miss my baby brother's first near-death experience."

"This isn't my first."

"Yeah, well, I wish there never had to be a first at all."

Sam chuckled and lay back, closing his eyes and groaning. Dean sat down, stood up, watched the room spin, and sat back down again.

"You okay?" Bobby asked from his spot across the room.

"Yeah, fine." Dean said, but he swore the room was, like, a hundred degrees. It reminded him of when he'd taken Sam to the beach when he was nine. He'd just wanted to sit and relax, but Sam kept going farther and farther out to sea, and Dean didn't like that much separation.

"Don't go too deep!"

"What?" Bobby looked up from his newspaper. Sam mumbled in his sleep and gave a feeble cough.

"Nothing."

Bobby gave him a suspicious glance.

Dean needed to get some air. "I'm going to grab something from the vending machine out front." He informed, standing up. The room spun like a carousel.

"Don't use up all your tickets on one ride!"

"You sure you're okay?" Bobby questioned. Dean waved him off and swayed out the door.

The hallway seemed to tip as he walked, so he held onto the wall to keep himself from falling.

He made it to the elevator when it dinged. Just as Dean went to board the crowded car, he coughed, and out came blood.

The elevator's contents were horrified, and as Dean's eyes rolled back and he fell forward, a woman screamed shrill and high.

His eyes flickered as he looked up at bright lights and frightened faces. One smart man had the sense to call for help.

"Help! Doctor!" He called. "Doctor!" The dramatic woman with the previously white, now red speckled, suit began to cry, her eyes wide as a fish.

Dean smiled. "Don't eat fish, Sammy. You don't even like seafood."

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><p><strong>So... Watcha think?... Thanks for any reviews last week, too!<strong>

**P.S. To Judyann, whose review was never replied: Glad you couldn't wait for more. Here it is!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! New chapter! Thanks for the wonderful reviews last chapter! **

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><p><em>"In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man..."<em>

Dean opened his eyes slowly. The radio played softly beside him as he lifted his head from the pillow.

_"Now I've reached that age, I've tried to do all those things the best I can..."_

This wasn't the hospital. It wasn't Bobby's. It was... Pastor Jim's? Yes, Dean recognized the room he used to share with Sammy.

_"No matter how I try, I find my way into the same old jam..."_

Dean stood up, remembering the event in the elevator, and checked himself over. He seemed perfectly fine; no cuts, bruises, nothing at all. It seemed a little cold, though.

_"Good times, bad times, you know I had my share-_" The radio stopped abruptly, causing Dean to turn.

The overhead lamp began to flicker as the thunder cracked in the night outside. "Hello?" He called. "Jim?" Dean stooped down under the low hanging ceiling, passing through doorways and small empty rooms he remembered so vividly. It must've been years since he'd set foot in Jim's church, but here it felt like yesterday.

"Jim?" He called again. "Where's Sam?" He was rewarded with more flickering lights and an eery screeching noise in the storm outside, the kind that doesn't calm you by thinking 'it's just the wind.'

"Sam-" Dean's voice faded as he entered a room full of long empty pews, crosses, and stained glass windows.

It was large, and sadly empty of both objects and people, leaving Dean more confused and alone than ever before. Suddenly, the lights disappeared and the room grew black. Dean told himself it was the power lines in the lightning storm, but between the touchy lights and the heavy storm, Dean couldn't help but think it might be something powerful. Might be...

"Dean."

The voice spoke, and Dean turned to face the familiar being. "Fancy seeing you here!" He said sarcastically, raising his arms to point out the chapel around them.

"House of the holy, huh? Where's Jim? Sam? Bobby?"

The entity held up one hand, silencing the human. "In good time, Dean. First, let's focus on you."

Dean looked disgruntled and opened his mouth to protest, but the companion held up a hand before putting a finger to her lips.

She winked.

**...**

Dean had fallen completely into the elevator, surrounded by the frantic faces of innocent people in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Doctor!" One man was calling. His name was Steven, and he'd had some medical practice in the army, but nothing like the hospital had to offer.

Amidst the screams and cries, it was forgotten that the group was on an elevator until the ding sounded. And it all happened in a matter of seconds.

Some unknowing person on another floor had pressed the button, and now everyone nearing or in the elevator watched frozen as the doors slipped shut.

"Well, what're we gonna do?" A hyperventilating woman broke the silence, wide eyes transfixed on Dean's unconscious form.

There was a jolt and they began to move, upwards or downwards, as the men tried to pick up the six foot hunter.

"Got 'im!" Steven said. "Make way so we can get to the front and be ready to get the poor guy off!" With a grunt, the man opposite him watched helplessly as his hands slid from under Dean's armpits and his upper half crashed onto the floor.

Dean groaned and his eyelids fluttered, as if he'd felt the pain distantly. Steven set down his feet gently. "Again!" He instructed. A different man picked him up by the shoulders as Steven once again seized Dean's legs.

"Back away!" Steven said. They must be near the stopping floor. But the crowd of people backed away fervently, elbowing each other accidentally, until one man hit against the buttons behind him.

With a screech, the elevator came to a sudden halt.

**...**

"Ruby." Dean said with disgust. "Whatever you need, I'm not doin' it."

Ruby smiled knowingly and sat comfortably in the nearest pew. "Au contraire, el Deano. You need to learn your manners. What I was going to say will benefit us both."

Dean huffed, started pacing, and silently cussed as she continued. "As you might know, Sam has cancer." He rolled his eyes. "But I'm guessing you want it gone?"

She waited for confirmation like she actually didn't know Dean's answer. He glanced up from the floor to see her staring at him not-so-patiently. "Yeah. I want it gone." He agreed.

"Good?" She flipped her brown hair and leaned back, a smile growing on her lips. "Me too."

Dean didn't trust her. Not at all. She was a bad influence on Sammy, gotten him hooked on demon blood, for Christ's sake, and managed to get him on her side. Now she wanted to collaborate?

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Not much." Came her reply. "Just some information."

**...**

There was dead silence in the compartment until Dean's moan rang and clear. It seemed to jolt his companions with a new sense of energy. A few women began banging on the doors and screaming until finally they heard a muffled answer.

"What did he say?"

"I can't hear him!"

One man shushed the others. "He said they called the fire department. They're on the way. One of you must've hit the emergency button."

The guilty man's face turned crimson with embarrassment, but the group seems too preoccupied to care.

"What's the matter with him?" Someone asked as Steven began amateurly checking on Dean.

"Dunno." He wiped the sweat off his forehead from the heat of the halted elevator. "But it's not good."

**...**

Dean sat down across from Ruby, making no motion to hide the demon knife he was casually toying with.

"What information do you need to help Sam?"

She stared fixedly at the knife, seemingly offended. "Point that thing elsewhere. Might I mention it's supposed to be in my possession?" Dean shrugged. He'd found it in his boot but honestly didn't remember putting it there.

"Tell me what you need."

"I need to get rid of the cancer, so Sam can be healthy enough to kill Lillith."

Dean stood up like it would give him power in his argument. "He is not about to join you and die trying to-"

"Uh-Uh, let me finish." She held up a hand. "Would you rather him stay like this? Up and down between remission and deathbed like a yoyo? Didn't think so." Dean shook his head.

"That's what I thought. Anyway, I need to know what kind of cancer, how long, and and the doctor's name. I'll need his DNA... Oh, do you have any baby bones on you?"

"Leukemia, a few weeks, I think, Bennett, and _gross_." He shook his head as she stood up.

"Anything else that could get in his way?"

Dean thought for a split second. "A man. A thief. Named-"

"Consider it done."

Dean's eyes widened. Just like that she'd kill a man? She was a demon, and he wasn't about to complain. "Well, I'll be going then." She spoke.

"But what about the curse? I can't go near Sam or something bad will happen to me. We just don't know what!"

She stopped at the doorway. "Are you sure you didn't find out? Besides,  
>that idiotic spell is none of my business."<p>

"Wait! How did I get here?"

She turned to face him one more time. "You do understand this is in your head?" Then she was gone, Dean felt the room spin, and he fainted.

**...**

"He's awake!"

"Shhhhh..."

"Help him!"

Dean squinted his eyes and was taken aback to find himself completely surrounded by people. Talk about claustrophobia.

He closed his eyes and his head rolled, escaping from the hectic moving around him in the stuffy elevator. Steven glanced up as the elevator doors cracked open, revealing a crouching fireman. He stuck his head in the couple feet between the top of the elevator and the hospital floor.

"Everyone okay?"

"No! This man's hurt!" Steven yelled up. Between a group of men and firefighters, they managed to lift Dean out, followed by the women and men.

Dean woke up as he was being rolled into a white room, a buzzing noise ringing in his ears. He groggily thought of Ruby as he drifted in and out if consciousness. He looked over at the nurse as she injected something into an IV that traveled down his arm. "No." He protested, but not loud enough, and soon his eyes were closing once again...

**...**

"...Miracle. They say he was coughing blood and now he seems fine." Dean sat up slowly, but laid back down before the nurses with their backs to him noticed. He was feeling rejuvenated and perfectly fine, though he vaguely remembered semi-consciously spluttering blood and passing out.

"They're going to release him today once he wakes up."

"Good."

"They can't explain it. Poor guy. First his brother gets cancer, then this freak accident."

"Life sucks. And his brother? Did he visit him after the freak accident or is he really sick?"

"Dunno. Samuel left yesterday."

"He checked out?"

"I don't know... I didn't see any forms. Might've been transferred to a serious hospital. Look, I have to cover Tricia in the lobby. Take over?"

"Sure."

Dean stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. Sam wasn't here. And Dean was better. It couldn't be a coincidence. Sam had sacrificed himself for his brother- and he'd learned from the best.

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><p><strong>Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I tried to update yesterday, I really did, but either the computer or the website was being funky... Anyway, please review if you have a minute to spare and I'll try to update next week. I'm going out of state and won't be back by Tuesday, but I'll try to update as soon as possible. :)<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry about the wait, guys! Finally back from the mountains, with a sparkling new chapter for you! First, let my fangirl come out as I say that I just about had a heart attack on my flight when my flight attendant walked up while I was reading John's Journal and introduced herself as Amanda- just like in the episode Phantom Traveler! I was waiting to have to save Amanda from a demon pilot while crawling after John's journal and the exorcism within, but alas, no such emergency took place... Anyway, enough about me, how about a new chapter?**

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><p>She handed him his insurance card (Fake) and his license (Fake) before smiling and telling him she hoped she wouldn't have to see him here again (Also fake, he thought confidently). "Good luck, Dean." The receptionist nodded to him as he left, not even waiting until he was out the door to pick up his phone and dial Sam's number.<p>

He'd expected every possible outcome and played them over in his head. _Sorry, Sam can't come to the phone right now, he's dying._ He just wished the kid would pick up the phone. _Oh, you're Sam's brother? Yeah, he disappeared. Last we saw him he was chugging **demon blood** behind Toys R Us..._

He pushed the bad thoughts away and focused on the ringing tone in his ear as he reached his car, telling himself to ignore the dent and all the memories it resurfaced, and began fumbling with the keys.

Dean had just managed to get the car door open when a voice finally picked up.

"Hello?"

Dean grinned as he recognized the voice on the other end of the line. "Hey, Sammy. Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine, actually. The question is, are _you_?"

Dean started the engine and closed his door, taking in the busted interior and, with a smile, the fact that Bobby had managed to cheaply fix the windows.

"You didn't answer my question, Sam. I said, where are you?"

Sam gave a sigh. "I'm at Bobby's."

"I'm on my way." Dean answered immediately.

"No! Dean! Just- go to a motel and I'll call you."

Dean turned out of the hospital and onto the main road. "No. I need to see you, Sam. Just talking over the phone isn't enough."

Sam was silent and Dean could hear the gears turning as he tried to find a solution that would keep his stubborn brother from putting them both in danger. "Do you still have my old laptop in the trunk?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Yeah..."

"Good. Find a motel. Call me later, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"And Dean? You sure you're okay?"

"I'm _fine_. But I'm worried about you. Are you sure you're healthy? You were really bad, Sam. I thought... Never mind what I thought. Just- you sound okay."

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm really good. The doctor up here said it was a miracle,"

"Miracle, sure."

Dean could envision Sam's forehead creasing and his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, nothing." He thought of Ruby and how she'd saved Sam, even if it was just for her personal gain. "There've just been a lot of those lately."

**...**

Dean turned the key into the lock and twisted it, cracking the door and getting a first look into his motel room. Since they were younger it had always been some sort of anticipated event to see what their room had in store, like an unveiling of a new theme park or a present. The excitement had begun to dwindle by the time Dean was ten, focus going more towards hunting and watching over Sam than the never ending family road trip.

This room was green and blue, fitting into the motel's name, Ocean Suites. He dropped his stuff on the bed and pulled out Sam's old laptop case, unzipping it to reveal the dinosaur of a computer Sam had used until Dean had bought him a new one for  
>Christmas, right before he went to college.<p>

He dusted it off and turned it on, surprised that it still worked at all. Right as he was reaching for his phone, it rang.

"Hey, Sam. I was just about to call-"

"This is not Sam."

Dean paused and glanced at his phone like it was otherworldly. "Cass?"

"Yes. I found a pay phone."

"Where've you _been_? We really needed you. Still do. Look, can you come here? I'm at-"

"I will not come at your beckoning, Dean. I have more imperative tasks than serving humans." Dean frowned. This wasn't the same Castiel. He'd seen this happen before, to angels sent up to heaven. "I just wished to inform you that Sam seems to be on the track to continue his... Unfortunate addiction. As I said before, if you don't step in, we will."

"But-" Castiel hung up, taking with him all of Dean's hopes of a quick fix for their witch problem.

He massaged his temples, a headache looming in the distance like a storm cloud. Dean picked his phone up from the table where he'd left it just moments ago. He didn't want to deal with demon-angel crap right now, just wanted to figure out how to get to see Sam in person again.

Dean pressed 1 and only heard the phone ring once or twice before Sam picked up. "Dean. Good."

"I have the laptop. What does this have to do with seeing you?"

"Skype, Dean, Skype."

"What's Skype? A disease?"

"No," Sam sounded annoyed. "It's with webcams. So we can see each other while we talk."

"Oh."

Sam guided Dean through the process of opening it on the laptop, which took longer than expected. "Good. Now click on the video camera button."

Sam's face popped up on the screen. He grinned, and it must've been contagious because Dean smiled at the sight of his brother, happy and healthy.

"It's almost as good as seeing you in person," Sam decided, but Dean disagreed. It was far from the same.

"So," Sam got right down to business. "Bobby and I have been searching for a ritual to get rid of the curse." He rustled some papers off screen and came back to hold a certain ragged paper extremely close to the camera. Dean could make out symbols, but nothing in English.

"What is that, Greek?" He guessed. Sam pulled the paper down, leaning back in his chair. Dean could see he was surrounded by books, which, in the case of Bobby's house, didn't help pinpoint his location.

"It's Egyptian, actually. Really old. Bobby managed to decipher the top half with some guy he happened to know-"

"Isn't this a lot of work?" Dean interrupted. "Can't we just look her up and ask her if she'll undo it?"

Sam sighed. "We tried, well, Bobby did. She refused. Then her name just disappeared from his contacts." He shrugged. "Talk to you when we figure out the bottom half. Bobby says it's probably the ingredients for the anti-curse."

Dean popped open his beer and sipped before speaking again. "Okay, so what can I do?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing really... Uh..." He sifted through a stack of books and papers, some so torn and musty Dean figured they had to be a thousand years old. "Yeah, just wait up, I guess. I'll call you. I'm heading out to talk to some Egyptian Translator Pro or something like that."

"Wait-"

"Later, Dean." Sam's face disappeared from the screen. "Damn it, Sam!" Dean cussed, contemplating throwing the laptop against the wall, but the motel was so cheap it would probably smash straight into the next room. Compromising, he slammed it shut loudly, taking another swig of his drink.

Dean was never a fan of computers, the internet wasn't worth it, minus a few exceptions (- totally worth a platinum membership) and as chic-flic as it would sound, he missed physical contact with his brother. They were always close by each other, and Dean shuddered with realization that the last time they'd been apart this long was when Sammy was in college.

Bad memories with close to deadly consequences. And he knew what they say: History repeats itself.

**...**

"Sam? You back yet?" Bobby set down his keys on top of a leaning pile of books. It was dark out, and the hunter figured Sam would be back by now. His drive to the professor wasn't long.

He peered from room to room, growing more and more nervous as he saw each empty and undisturbed. "Sam! I saw the car-" His body relaxed when he entered another room and saw the top of Sam's head over the back of the outdated couch. "Jesus, Sam, you almost gave me a heart attack! I just went to help Rufus real fast. Sam?"

He took a step closer. Sam was tall, and it occurred to him that the kid's neck should clear the top of the couch. So not only was he not speaking, he was slouching. Bobby's hunter senses tingled and his heart skipped a beat as he covered the distance between himself and the younger hunter in two strides.

"Sam." He shook his shoulder urgently, kneeling down. Sam's eyes opens slowly, glazed over and red, as was the area around his eyes, like he'd been upset.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice was more soft and less strict this time. Sam's eyes drooped sadly as he looked at the hunter. "Get away, Gramps." He mumbled bluntly, curling into the feeble position, his back to the stunned hunter.

"_Sam_? Sit up! What's the matter with you?"

Sam did as he was told, his shirt disheveled and his hair mussed up and wild. "What's the matter with _you_?"

Bobby frowned, then understanding crossed his face. "Sam, are- are you _drunk?_" His eyes flicked to the open and empty liquor cabinet, then to the bottles placed around the room that he'd missed during his anxious search.

"Yeah. So?" Sam shrugged childishly.

"Come on, Sam! You can't waste your time drinking, idgit, when you were the one whining about not bein' near your brother twenty four-seven!"

Sam stared off. "Doesn't matter."

"What are you talking about?"

"'s over. It's over."

"What's over?"

"It's over," Sam repeated, shaking his head.

"What's-"

"It's OVER!" Sam shouted, standing up to tower over his friend. "IT'S ALL OVER!" He panted for a moment, swaying, before passing out and hitting the floor.

**...**

Bobby managed to get a semi-conscious, mumbling Sam up the steps to the room he and Dean always shared. Sam fell onto the bed, rolling over and quickly falling asleep. He looked peaceful, but Bobby knew he most definitely wouldn't be the next morning. Hangovers were no walk in the park.

Walking back downstairs, Bobby picked up different opened and partially drank bottles along the way, stopping when he reached what looked to be the spot Sam had dumped his stuff when he'd come back. Feeling like the maid, he picked up Sam's jacket, stooping down to look at a paper that had been left carelessly beneath it.

The handwriting was scrawled and difficult to read, but the North Dakota University emblem at the top was easily noticeable and caught Bobby's eye as the location of that professor Sam'd gone to.

He began to read. It was the items for the anti-curse. At first it seemed like the normal items (As normal as anti-witch's curse ingredients can be, that is) were all it would take, spiders eggs, birds' bones, etcetera. But one item stuck out. "Oh, _Sam_..." Bobby muttered sadly. He sighed and read the last item in the professor's writing, with an arrow towards some age-old wording.

"The last ingredient is the most important, and deeply trying to receive, one of difficulty and extreme willpower." It translated. "The blood of the accursed man's mother." Sam was right. It _was_ over. Without Sam and Dean's mother's blood, the spell was worthless. Sam wasn't himself without Dean, Dean was miserable without Sam, and Mary Winchester was ash.

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><p><strong>Tuh-duh! Nothing's ever easy for the Winchesters... Thanks for reading and reviewing and favorite-ing and any other Ings that have made me happy to be writing this for you! :) I'll update next TUESDAY! (For real. No joke. I promise.)<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**In a hurry and don't have much time, but I really wanted to get this up for you!**

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><p><strong><strong>Sam hunched forward violently, gripping the edge of the toilet white-knuckled. He emptied the contents of his stomach and groaned, his headache growing constantly by the second.

"You know," Dean spoke up. "I'd tell you the perfect remedy for a hangover if this situation wasn't so grim." He paused. "A nice, greasy sandwich in a dirty ashtray."

Sam held up his middle finger at the computer screen. "Very funny." He grunted. "Dude, did you have to Skype now?"

"Come on, lighten up Sammy. Bobby hooked me up, turned on your camera thingy while you were nose diving the porcelain throne. Besides, I'm starting to like this Skype." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I was just, Uh, thinking about possible solutions."

"I have no..._THING_!" The last part was squealed out as he jerked forward again and threw up.

"Gross, Sam, tryin' to hold a meeting here."

Sam laid his head against the wall and closed his eyes, taking some raggedy breaths. "Did you call Rufus?"

"He's got nada."

"Anything new with Bobby?"

"Haven't you seen him?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I've had my head in the toilet since three this morning!"

"Okay, okay. Well he doesn't have anything either."

"Caleb?"

"...Is dead... _Hon_estly, dude, have you been drunk for the past three years?"

"Jo?"

"Zip."

"Ellen?"

Dean paused for so long Sam opened his eyes and raised his head, staring at the computer screen. "What?"

"Gotta go, Sam." Dean said suddenly.

"Wha-wait-Wha?" Sam sputtered.

"Listerine- it's your friend," Dean quipped before his screen went black.

Sam stood up but sat back down, his head spinning.

"Need anything?"

Sam jumped, cursing and looking up at the hunter. "You scared the crap out of me, Bobby!"

Bobby ignored his comment. "Food-"

Sam groaned.

"Liquid?"

He groaned again.

"Greasy sandwich in an ashtray?"

Sam fumbled towards the toilet and dry-heaved, feeling a gentle pat on the back. "Hang in there, son." Bobby told him.

"Call Dean." Sam called as the older man walked down the hall. "He had some sort of breakthrough."

"Sure," Bobby said back, grimacing as Sam turned back towards the toilet quickly.

**...**

Bobby sat down in the living room, instantly surrounded by walls of books, and pouring some alcohol into a shot glass and taking a decent sip before calling Dean.

The phone only rang once. "Bobby." Dean answered.

"Sam said you made a breakthrough?"

"Well, I've got an idea." Dean returned. "Did the translation say it had to be a flesh and blood mother?"

Bobby sifted through his desk and found the sheet again. "Nope. Why? What're you up to?"

"Bobby, what's the closest thing we have to a mother?"

"My guess would be your mother, idgit. But I'm guessing your not talking about her, so get on with it."

Huh, Dean thought. Bobby seemed a little cranky. He must be sober. He's been grumbling since Sam drank his beer. A sober Bobby isn't usually a content Bobby.

"I'm talking about Ellen."

"Harvelle?"

"No, DeGeneres! Yes, our Ellen!" Dean sighed, watching the highway peel away in front of him. "S-sorry Bobby. I didn't mean to flip out on you like that... I've kind of been on edge lately."

"We all have, son." Bobby replied softly. He'd seen good brotherly relationships, but never one like Sam and Dean's. Not being together, it was killing them. Hell, look at Sam, from terminal cancer to the worst hangover he'd seen in years, and Dean, desperate enough to go to Ellen... Then it hit him.

"Dean! You're not going to-"

"No!" Dean seemed to read his thoughts, surprised the older man thought he'd sink to that level. Well, Maybe for Sam... In dire situations. "I wouldn't- I'd feel- I'd never hurt Ellen or Jo like that..."

Bobby nodded. "Okay, Dean. Call me once you figure it out. Hope it works, and you shouldn't need a whole body's worth. Enough to make her dizzy, though, so take care, Dean."

**...**

Ellen had told him to meet her at the Sundance Hotel, tenth floor, and Dean had almost turned around once he'd reached the richer part of the big city, but kept going. He was surprised to find the Sundance to be a really nice hotel, feeling awkward parking his Impala next to a Jaguar, so brand friggin' new it ticked him off, gave him a strange urge to key the car and slash the tires.

He blamed it on the stress and refrained.

His boots seemed to clunk heavily as he trekked down the long hallway, muttering 1017 under his breath as he checked each room.

"Ah," He spoke, eyeing the door. He checked his watch. 9:35, he was early. Of course, nice hotels like this needed room keys, the credit card looking kind.

With a shrug and a "nothing to lose" attitude, he tried the handle.

Click.

The door pushed open with ease, never locked, and now he noticed with stupidity the small bottle cap holding the door ajar.

He walked in, kicking it aside, and assessed his surroundings as he closed the door. It was a small room, two beds, both messy, and a beautiful view of the skylight if he may say so himself. Then he noticed the blood. A small spot on the ground.

It was indistinct, the kind of thing anyone but a hunter- and probably a world class detective, he thought, modestly- would sniff out. He slowly put down his duffel, pulled his gun out and cocked it quietly.

This was not good. Totally not good. Back against the wall, he turned the corner and raised his gun.

Something white appeared out of nowhere, twisting his wrist and grabbing the handgun with it's own fingers resting on top of Dean's, yanking him close- and all in about one second.

Big blue eyes met his green ones and Dean found familiarity in them. "Jo." He whispered. Their bodies were close together as she defensively held his gun, her hands tight over his, and their mouths so close he felt her breath as she talked.

"Dean..." She whispered. She didn't get closer, like Dean secretly hoped, but she didn't back away either.

"Hey, Jo." He said softly. "What're you doing here?"

"Taking a break. Visiting my mom." She whispered. She must have just gotten a shower. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a pristine snowy white bathrobe.

The door flew open and hit Dean square in the head. "Damn," He cussed, backing up and rubbing his head.

"Dean?" It was Ellen. Moment over.

He smiled even though he was seeing stars. "Women of the hour, herself! Thought you were dead!" He joked nervously, nodding at the blood.

"Oh. I was cut earlier. Just a stupid thing." She kicked the door closed behind her, hands full of grocery bags, which she set down on the nearest bed. "What's... Going on?" She looked from Dean to Jo and back to Dean for answers.

"For God's sake, get some clothes on Jo!" Dean blushed as she grabbed her stuff and ran back into the bathroom. Ellen sat down on the bed. "What's this surprise visit about, Dean?"

"I need a favor."

She rolled her eyes. "Winchester favors get my family killed." She teased.

"It's for Sam."

Ellen looked up seriously. "What's wrong?"

"It's a curse, but we need our mother's blood. And it didn't say our real mom, which is good cause, you know," She nodded. "And we were thinking... You're like a mother to us. The closest thing anyway."

She looked down and sighed. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"Fine? Just like that?"

"Sure, why not?"

Dean shrugged. He couldn't really think of anything, but he'd had this really nice, long speech planned out to persuade her.

"Anything for Sam." She said.

Dean grinned back at her. "Touché."

**...**

"So how much are you taking from her?" Jo stood nervously behind Ellen, her arms crossed and brows furrowed anxiously as she watched Dean take out the equipment.

"Enough to make her woozy." He answered. All of his materials had been snagged from an emergency clinic. Don't worry, they had extras.

"Yeah, but how much are you really taking?"

"Uh... Probably one."

"One what?" Jo asked. She looked about ready to explode.

"Maybe two."

"Two what?"

"One or two-"

"Jesus, Jo!" Ellen turned to scold her daughter. "I don't care how much, I don't care as long as I'm here to protect you afterwards without too much trouble and those boys are safe and happy."

She looked back down, defeated. "I know." She made eye contact with Dean and smiled slightly. "I get the same feeling."

**...**

Bobby drove as close as he dared, fearing any less distance between Dean and his brother might cause a repeat of the events at the hospital.

"I'll leave you here, Sam. Come as soon as you get the call." Sam nodded from the window of his hot-wired car, watching Bobby speed off with Dean's special chant and a small hope it'd all work itself out.

**...**

"I've got everything now," Dean explained as he helped Ellen lay back. "You stop worrying and just rest."

She complied grudgingly, but all three looked up as Bobby walked throughout the door. "Looks like I found the right place." He said, holding up a slip of paper. Even from afar, Dean recognized with a pang the familiar handwriting.

"I don't want to waste any time." Dean said sternly. "Let's get this over with, yeah?" He brushed past Bobby and grabbed the rest of the supplies from his duffel. Jo raised her eyebrows as he looked at the blood squeamishly.

"What?" He asked. She smiled and shook her head. "Nothing, Hunter."

**...**

Sam picked up his cell on the first ring. "Sam? That was fast."

"Bobby! How'd it go?"

"You're good. You got the addr-"

"Yeah. See you soon." He flipped his phone shut and sped away, tires squealing.

He knocked on the door timidly, hoping he wouldn't walk in to a bleeding and/or dying Dean. The door opened and Jo half-smirked, giving him a Vanna White, his gaze following her hand to Dean.

He smiled hugely, feeling stupid. "Dean..."

He walked forward to Dean, arms out wide. Dean hugged Sam, not worrying about what Bobby or Ellen was thinking, or the smirk on Jo's face he sensed.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean spoke lamely as they pulled back. Everyone waited with baited breath for a reaction, but all Dean did was cough.

"It's over," Sam said.

"It's over," Dean repeated.

"Alright!" Jo interrupted the silence. "Quit with the bromance. I'm going to bed."

"Honey, there are five of us and two beds." Ellen pointed out as Jo flopped into the middle of one bed, eyes closed and lips curled in a smile.

"I'm leavin'." Bobby informed.

"Yeah," Sam said. "And we can get another room-"

"I won't have it." Ellen protested, and soon enough, the brothers were in one bed and Ellen and Jo shared the other.

"Spoon with me, Sam." Dean mocked, making his younger brother roll his eyes.

"Dude, we've only gotten back together for like, an hour. It's almost midnight, just go to sleep."

Dean grumbled and turned on his side. "Just saying... This is a crappily small bed."

"Crappily?"

"I'm the older brother. I can make up words."

"Sure, Dean. Whatever..." He slurred sleepily. Dean heard his soft snoring, lulling him to sleep like it had all those years ago.

**...**

"OH MY _GOD_!" Jo screamed, jerking Sam awake, as well as Ellen.

"What? _What_!"

Dean's lips were blue, breath barely leaving his lips as he lay still beside his brother.

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><p><strong>Thanks again guys for reviews and all that good stuff! And you thought this story was coming to a close... Soon... Just not yet... :) See you next week!<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello everybody! Sorry I didn't update yesterday but I was crazy busy. Apologies also about the lack of action but next chapter is going to be exciting...**

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><p>Sam was frozen in place, his hand going to Dean's neck, searching for a pulse and finding a distant one. His breath was ragged, but suddenly, Jo pulled him back, away from his brother and basically across the room.<p>

"Don't move." She ordered. Sam nodded like a lost child, his eyes watery as he watched Dean lay there. Jo knew her stuff though, checking for a blockage and beginning CPR when she found none.

"It's not _wor_king!" She shrieked, and without a moment's notice dipped down and kissed him hard on the lips. Wait, Sam thought. She was giving him mouth to mouth.

He watched Dean's chest rise with each of her exhales, her hand pinching his nose, the other in his hair, tilting his head back. Sam sank to the floor nervously, barely breathing himself, but already Dean's breathing on his own, and Ellen comes over to give him a reassuring look and whispers soothingly as the color begins to return to his brother's lips.

Suddenly, Dean coughs and splutters, jerking up with a gasp as if someone had been choking him and only just now let up. "Dean!" Sam rushed over, making a move to help his brother, but Jo held him back.

"Stop!" She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back gently. Ellen was at Dean's side, helping him up and handing him a glass of water to sip. "I'm fine." He protested. "What the hell happened anyway?"

"You were suffocating." Sam spoke in a distraught whisper, the first thing he'd said since he'd woken up to a blue-lipped brother. "I don't know why."

"I do," Jo said, walking back over with beers for everyone. Sam declined his, focusing on whatever her explanation was.

"It's about the spell." She began. "You used Mom's blood, right? 'Cause she's like your real mother. That's "half" true, so the spell "half" worked."

Sam cussed. "So now what? We've got nothing to go on and I still can't go near my own brother!"

"You can go near him, you just can't touch him." Ellen corrected. "But you're right. We've got no idea where to go from here. What do we even do?"

"We do what we always do when we don't know what to do." Everyone looked over as Dean swigged his beer and stood up like nothing had even happened. "We call Bobby."

**...**

Sam was depressed, quite literally. He sat in the corner and didn't really speak at all. Every time he did get up though, he steered clear of Dean like he was a mine. "Dude, you don't have to flatten yourself against the wall to walk past me." Dean shook his head sadly from the bed.

"I don't want to hurt you." Sam spoke in a shaky monotone.

"You won't! We hugged for like, five seconds, and all I did was cough!"

Sam shrugged. He wasn't taking any chances. "Just- what did Bobby have to say?"

"He said he'll start looking and we shouldn't have any brotherly moments anytime soon because we always end up hugging."

Sam chuckled, regaining his position with his laptop balanced on his lap. "He's upset, too." He decided.

Dean looked impressed. "How'd you know that?" He'd always known that Sam was good at reading people, but he didn't even know what Bobby had sounded like, and hell, Dean had even paraphrased what the older man had said.

Sam smiled, but sadly. Dean could always tell when his brother was faking it, ever since they were little. This was a courtesy smile, meant to say "I'm fine" when really this whole messed up situation was totally killing him inside. "He didn't even call us idgits."

It was true. He must be worried. Dean was too, but he wouldn't admit it. What was he supposed to do if Sammy got hurt again- when Sammy got hurt again? Sit back and watch? Direct from the sidelines? No. This had to be solved and he prayed to God (who hopefully was real and gave a damn) that Bobby had a solution.

Jo and Ellen returned with bags of groceries a couple hours later, armed with necessities. "Oh, and we took the liberty of taking your car to the best mechanics in town. Looked a little beat up." Jo added.

"You _what_?" Dean said, getting up and walking over.

"It's okay. They're really good." Ellen added.

Dean was too tired to argue. "Alright, I just need to be there to get it when they're done. I coulda done it myself, you know." He grumbled. Dean resumed cleaning his guns at the table.

"Do you really think Bobby'll know what to do?" Jo asked, sitting across from him and picking up a knife. Dean shrugged.

"He usually comes through,"

Jo agreed, as did Ellen, but with a glint of truthfulness in her eyes, unlike Jo who, through experience, Dean knew was just trying to cheer him up.

The older hunter didn't arrive for a couple more hours. Sam opened the door when he knocked, stowing his gun back in his pants when he realized it was just an old friend.

"Well? Anything?" Sam looked hopeful and tired as he looked up at Bobby, who frowned slightly. Those boys believed in him, and- his fault or not- it saddened him to be the bearer of bad news.

"Sorry, guys." He said when he walked past Sam, meeting the eyes of a disappointed Dean and quickly looking away.

"Nothing?"

He sighed. "No. All of my contacts that had to do with that witch vanished. I've got absolutely no leads. Everything I ever had about witches is gone, torn out of books and stuff no doubt by our witchy bitch herself."

Dean groaned. "We'll have to find another source, then?"

"And a resourceful one at that," Ellen added. "But it's late, and she's not goin' anywhere, so why don't you men just sit back and try to relax, okay?"

"Yes, Mom." Dean mocked, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Ellen, you can't expect us to just kick back and pretend this isn't happening!"

"Well," Jo sauntered up and sat right up against him, staring him in the eye as she spoke. "Why don't you do something exciting then?"

Dean waited.

"Go get your car, Dean." She sounded annoyed, now. "Bobby'll take you."

"I will?"

"Yep." She pulled Dean up by the arm, forcing him on his feet and prodding him towards the door. "Come, Dean. Take Bobby's car-of-the-day and you can drive back in the Impala."

He waved his hand in submission and followed Bobby out. "That's more like it..." Jo's voice dropped as she noticed Sam in the corner again, laptop close to his face and typing furiously.

"You too, Grumpy." Ellen joined in. Sam grumbled as the women guided him to the truck, protesting the entire way. "You can get some sleep on the drive." Jo suggested kindly. He responded by saying he wasn't tired, but it was hard to believe. As if some of his only friends wouldn't notice the way he stares off sometimes, shudders in thought or wakes up with nightmares.

As if they wouldn't notice the dark circled under his eyes that meant he couldn't sleep a wink until his brother was safe.

**...**

"So why do you have her name in your contacts in the first place?" Dean made conversation in the silent car. "And what's her name, even?"

"Her name in my contacts was Marjory, wasn't it Sam?"

Sam nodded sheepishly, cheeks reddening.

"But her real name was Marie Ventuar, and she was a thing of beauty... We had a few drinks, you know, strictly business." He said unconvincingly. "I was looking for a killer, and she happened to be a witness."

Dean winked at Sam in the backseat. Sam rolled his eyes. "Just like old times, huh, Sammy?" Dean teased.

"Do you idjits want to know how I know her or not?"

"We want to know..." Dean said like a four-year-old being put in time out.

"What I thought. Anyway, she helped out, dropped some hints 'till I found the guy. That's when she told me she was a witch. A nice one at that."

"Polite," Sam added.

"She said, 'You're a hunter. You probably think we're all Wicked Witches of the West.' Naturally, I told her that seemed to be the case. She scrawled down her number, smiled, and said 'Doesn't mean there aren't a few Glendas."

Dean gave an impressed frown. "Not bad, not bad."

"Yeah, well, apparently I was wrong about her. Made a deal with Sam, here, and didn't follow up on her niceness by letting it go."

Dean put his hand on Bobby's shoulder as they pulled into the mechanics'. "There are plenty more fish in the sea, young Bobby."

Bobby called him a number of affectionate profanities as the hunter snickered and stood up out of the truck, Sam not-so close behind. "For God's sake, I'm not contagious!" Dean yelled, eyes wide. Sam  
>nodded and followed his older brother. "People're gonna think I've got a rash or somethin'..." Dean mumbled.<p>

I'll see you at Ellen's hotel." Bobby told the two as he started up his Chevy. "Call me if you need a ride for some reason." Sam watched the truck drive away reluctantly, turning his attention back to the door when a greasy man with stubble burst through, smiling and wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

"Hey! Customers!" He laughed a giant belly laugh and dug some keys out of his pocket. "So, these are yours. Nice car, by the way. You know, you were my only customers today? Yep. I'll go get your car."

Dean gave Sam a look as the man turned around. "He's cheerful." Sam nodded, inching further away.

"Sam! You won't hurt me! _Ser_iously!"

Sam shrugged as the Impala was pulled up next to them, the mechanic climbing out and shutting the door loudly behind him. "I don't want to take a chance."

"Sammy," Dean said seriously. "One day, hopefully in the near future, the Winchester brothers can be a team again. But just because you can't touch me without hurting-"

"Winchester?" The mechanic butted in. "Winchester?"

Dean nodded slowly.

"Do you know a John Winchester?"

"He's our father." Dean responded seriously. "Why?" The mechanic just nodded towards his office. "Why don't you come in my office real fast?"

The brothers followed him through the parking lot and into a cramped, air conditioned room. "This way." He opened a closet, revealing hanging coats, nicer shirts, and jackets. "Do you still, you know... hunt?"

Sam nodded gravely.

"Okay," He waved the brothers forward, with darting eyes as he pulled open a latch, a whole new room appearing before their eyes.

"Dude..." Dean smiled as he glanced around the room, walls covered in racks of guns and knives and everything imaginable.

"You like it? I-" He paused, ears perked. With a sudden forcefulness, he violently pushed Sam in, the hunter almost stumbling into his brother, breathing a relieved sigh amidst the confusion.

The mechanic put a finger to his lips and slammed the door shut, plunging the two into darkness.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading this week! As always, reviews are love and I really appreciated everything last week. I'll either update this weekend or, if not possible, next weekend :(<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello! Yes, it's really me! And I almost didn't make it this weekend too! Sorry about not responding to your nice reviews, but I've been BUSY! Ugh, as much as I'd like to sit and write all day... Anyway, if you remember from eons ago, the mechanic shoved 'em in his Hunter Room... **

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><p><strong><strong>"Dean!" Sam hissed from somewhere to the hunter's left.

"_Shhh_!" Dean sent back, crawling towards the door with his hands out cautiously. He pressed his eat against the door.

"I just think you need to come home earlier. It's _all_ I'm asking, Dear."

"Honey, you _know_ I can't! I've got things to do here, a couple cars to return, I'll be home as soon as possible."

"But-"

"Go _home_," The mechanic-hunter said softly. "I'll be there soon."

They kissed and Dean heard the jingle of keys. "Love you, Tony." Her voice was muffled through the door.

Dean crawled back over until he could hear Sam's breathing. "Hey," He whispered. Sam's sharp intake of breath told Dean he hadn't heard him return.

"Sounds like he's talking to the wife or something."

"Why are we in here?" Sam stated, not commenting on Dean's report. For a twenty something year old, he acted like he was five, Dean thought. But then again, he had good reason to be scared this much. It seemed like years ago his little brother had fallen and been stabbed, when in reality it was a matter of a couple weeks.

"Do you think his wife doesn't know he hunts?" Dean whispered, leaning against a table. His eyes has begun to adjust to the lack of light, and he could just make out the faint outline of Sam's face.

Before Sam had a chance to answer, the doors opened, revealing Tony, silhouetted by the orange lot of the falling sun. The two jumped quickly to their feet, Sam's face showing confusion and worry, but Dean's anger masked with the protectiveness of an older brother. "What's the meaning of this?" He spat. "Or do you always introduce new companions to your collection of weapons before locking them in?"

"I-I wasn't-"

"What if we couldn't see- which we couldn't? And what was _so_ secretive you had to literally shove my brother into the damn closet, huh?" Dean walked closer, glaring at the stuttering man.

"You think you can just tell us you know our father and go have your own private conversation?"

"Dean-" Sam tried to butt in, to tell his brother he was scaring the man, but Dean ignored him.

"Your own wife doesn't even know, huh? Or are you not doing this anymore? Because a hunter with _any_ sense would've noticed by now that "Winchester" is a _pretty_ high name on the demon Wanted list."

"Dean-"

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but he was at a loss for words, backing up slowly into his hanging jackets as Dean continued furiously.

"And by the way, my brother and I are cursed. Yeah, cursed. So the next time you think about almost pushing us into one another, remember the consequences for us if we make physical contact."

"Dean-"

"-Dis_ease_, internal _bleeding_, suffocation, _death_." Sam felt it wasn't the time to mention how Dean was the one who'd been saying that wouldn't be a big deal unless they were in contact for a long period of time. When Dean was in a mood, there was no messing with him.

"Dean!" Sam stood next to his brother, the closest they had been in a while. "It was an accident, okay? He didn't mean it like that, he just didn't want his wife to know." Tony was nodding furiously behind him. "Lay off."

"W-where's John?" Tony asked when everyone was calmer. "We used to work together. Hunting."

"He's dead." Dean answered monotonously.

"Oh. Sorry to hear that."

Dean nodded. At this point, the wound that was his father's death was far from raw- it was numb and cold, like a distant nightmare. "Me, too."

"But, uh," Tony flipped on a switch and the room filled with the artificial light of some overhead fluorescent lamps. "I might have something for your curse."

Sam's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yup. I had a similar problem last year. If the witch refuses to let it go, there's only one more option."

"Yeah?"

"Well, two." He corrected, brushing past the brothers, who turned to watch him as he began rummaging through his hanging racks of knives.

"One, you could kill her. It usually wouldn't nix the spells she's cast, unless you use this knife." He pulled a jagged dagger out of a scabbard with Latin etched into it's side.

"It's Bobby's old friend." Sam reasoned. "I don't think he'd be happy if we stabbed her. No matter what she did, she's still human."

"Well," Tony continued, "Plan B then. I used to have a spell for this, might still have it around..." He ducked under a metal table and rummaged through the boxes, calling out when he pulled out a stack and began shuffling through it. He paused at one, handed it to Dean.

"This is what you need."

"That's it?" Dean asked, looking over the Latin page before him.

"Just a little summoning ritual and this bad boy and you're good to go. One of a kind, that is. Pleased if you'd return it afterwards."

Dean smiled. "Sure, thanks man!"

"Yeah, thanks. A lot." Sam added.

"Anything for John." Tony said. "Be careful."

"Course." Dean replied. He folded the paper and handed it to Sam, grabbing the Impala's keys of the workbench as he walked by.

Sam ducked in the passenger side and shut the door behind him, Dean on the right. He froze halfway down and stood back up. "Tony!" He called after the man, who was locking the hidden room back up.

"I forgot to pay you."

Tony shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "No need!"

**...**

It was a team effort. Ellen began with the table and the sigils necessary, while Sam checked and looked over the Latin. Bobby was collecting weapons and tools, just in case, he said skeptically. Jo helped Dean with the ingredients outside.

"You find any copper?" Jo asked, clawing through the dirt and grinning as she found her prize- a dime sized snail, which she dropped in a bucket with a clunk.

"At the hardware store."

"Good." She nodded. "What's it for, anyway?"

"Turns the fire green." Dean answered, adding another snail to the pale.

Jo chuckled and smiled at Dean. "You know you're much smarter than you let people believe."

Dean shrugged. "I don't-"

"Hey. We're ready in here." Sam interrupted. Dean wiped his hands on his pants and stood up. Jo and Dean reached for the bucket at the same time. Sam raised his eyebrows as their hands brushed and they pulled away quickly. "Shut up." Dean said, walking past Sam. Jo blushed as she hurried after the hunter.

**...**

Dean watched nervously as his brother began the summoning ritual, striking a match without looking up from the paper before him and lighting the contents of a brass bowl on fire. He looked certifiably sinister with the flames jumping, the strange mutterings, and the desperate look in his eyes.

He finished and everyone waited silently for the witch to show.

"Nothings happening." Sam said sullenly.

"Just give it a second." Dean reassured him. "I'm sure- Sam!" He suddenly pointed a finger right behind Sam, who ducked just in time for the woman's knife-wielding hand to swipe an inch above his head. He hesitated, not wanting to punch a lady, and backed away towards Dean.

"Way to go, Two Shoes." Dean muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"What'd you want me to do?" Sam whispered back.

"Enough!" The witch shrieked. She had long, shiny dark brown hair and an ageless face, not to mention not a single wart in sight. She smiled with perfect teeth, but angry green eyes. "Does she look like..." Sam began, leaning towards Dean.

"Sofia Vergara?" Dean answered, watching her saunter towards Bobby. "I see the resemblance."

"What's going on here? Bobby?" She turned to the man. "Older than I remember you, Bobby boy." He shrugged.

"Tell me 'bout yourself, Marie. What's a pretty little witch like you doing out here?" Dean realized what he was doing- stalling.

"Sam, you've got to start the ritual. Now, while she's distracted." Sam nodded gravely and began sneaking quietly towards the table again.

"You've got guts to call me, Bobby boy." She whispered. "What made you call a witch powerful enough to flash in, huh?"

Sam began uttering the second spell as quietly as possible. He took another match and lit on the embers of the previous flames. He touched it to the special wood Bobby had supplied for them and jumped back when it caught like a torch, accompanied by a large whoosh sound.

Marie whipped her head around, a look of absolute fury burning into Sam. "You!" She screamed as Sam picked up the pace with the incantation. She stepped towards him, leaving Bobby pinned to the wall. "No!" She closed her eyes and squeezed her fist tight, grinning.

"Sesectum het-" Sam cut off suddenly, his mouth wide. He tried to speak again, but his voice wouldn't work. "Try saying your little spell now, boy." She smirked.

Jo ran up behind her, arm pulled back for a punch. Not even looking, Marie put up a hand and waved it, sending the girl flying into Ellen and knocking both of them to the ground. Sam stepped towards her angrily, this time with a knife clutched tightly. With a scream of anger, she sent him soaring across the room. The hunter landed with his hands behind him, and Dean winced when his wrist twisted the wrong way. His mouth opened wide in what would be a cry of pain, but instead was absolutely silent.

"That's enough!" Dean shouted, swinging a fist at her and managing to connect. She was stunned for a moment, but pushed Dean back with surprising strength. He stumbled back, his head hitting the corner of the bedside table.

He fell to the ground with a groan, dizzily looking from Ellen and Jo regaining their balance slowly, to the cackling witch, and finally to his brother cradling his wrist in his hand. He was seeing stars, blinking his eyes to try to see clearly, just in time to watch Marie aim a kick at Ellen as she stood back up for another go.

It's started, Dean thought. And for Sam and my own sake we have to win. His vision spotted for a moment and he prayed he didn't have a slight concussion. They were going to have to fight to end this. Dean was really starting to wish they'd decided to kill this bitch.

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><p><strong>Yikes! Gotta go, in a rush :( but thanks for reading. The climax! How exciting! :)<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey, everybody! We are almost there! For real this time! Can you believe it? So, I was busy again, but I PROMISE to answer any reviews this week! You guys gave me a guilty conscience!**

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><p>Dean watched the spinning room slow to a crawl until he was able to stand shakily. Sam was still in the corner, but with a mean look of determination, Bobby was on his feet and heading straight towards the witch with a gun.<p>

He aimed it straight at her head, but to everyone's surprise, she laughed, so hard it was scary. Bobby lowered the gun slightly. "You think you scare _me_, Bobby Singer? You think I don't know that you'd never kill me? Not before I reverse the spell, which is, I assume, the reason you called me here?" She spoke smoothly, calling out Bobby's bluff with a smirk.

"Come on, Bobby. Believe it or not, I know you, and I can tell by that look in your eyes, you wouldn't dare leave these two like this by taking the easy route, huh." She walked to Ellen and smiled darkly, muttering something under her breath. "You're Mr. Road Less Traveled, so let's see how well your little buddies hold up without their hero to save the day."

She snapped her fingers and Ellen's eyes rolled back as she fell to the ground. With another snap, Bobby toppled over lifelessly. "Mom!" Jo shrieked, but halfway to her unconscious mother she grew pale and fainted.

Dean stood in shock and Sam managed a cold stare through his grimace. "We're alone now, boys. Winchester's a big name now. Even the witches know." She smiled at Dean and he returned the look sarcastically. Outside, he looked stunned, but internally, the gears were turning.

He had to say the spell. It was the only way. Sam was mute, at least until the spell was up, and the others were dead to the world, though, thankfully, breathing.

It was as if his brother read his thoughts, giving him an understanding look across the room.

"_Now_!"

Sam shot to his feet and swung at the witch with his good hand, hitting her square in the jaw right as she turned around. Dean dove after the paper and quickly began reciting the spell.

Sam tried to scream "Hurry!" but no sound came out. Neither did it when she grabbed his hurt wrist with an iron grip, smiling sinisterly, though it made him want to scream or at least let out a flurry of cuss words. He clawed at her hand and with a sudden forcefulness, twisted out of her grip.

Dean risked a glance back as he continued, dropping a snail in the fire and stumbling over a few words, praying it didn't make a difference. Sam pulled out a knife and turned it in his hand, gripping the handle and ready to stab. She came at him quickly and he managed to slice her arm. Shocked, she stood with her eyes wide for a moment. With a scream that shook the building and caused Dean to jump, she lunged at Sam, tackling him to the ground with fury.

By the time the witch realized what Dean was doing, her powers were already draining. She stood up and faced the older Winchester with a glare. "Not so fast, Winchester." She clenched her fist in the same motion that had ridden Sam of his voice, but nothing happened. Dean grinned. She wasn't powerful enough.

He began reciting the spell, faster and faster, before she managed to knock Sam to the ground hard enough to leave him dazed for a moment, pushing Dean with inhuman force and sending him soaring across the room.

Marie snatched the paper up, but Sam was on her instantly, dragging her to the ground and wrenching it out of her hands. He balled it up and pegged it at Dean, hoping his guess that the hunter had neared the end was true. He didn't know how much longer he could distract her.

Sam's wrist hurt like hell, he was dizzy, and his nose was bleeding, but he somehow managed to hang in while Dean completed the last step, sprinkling holy water on the concoction. With a flash and a bang, Marie was thrown off of her feet, landing on the far side of the apartment.

Dean limped over and stood over her threateningly. "It's no longer possible to be a witch for you." Dean explained through gritted teeth. "And if I hear one word that you're hurting others ever again- one word!- I swear I'll hunt you down and kill you like I'm regretting not doing more and more by the second." She nodded, thoroughly scared of Dean's angry eyes and heavy breathing.

"And if you EVER touch a hair on my brother's head I won't kill you." She made eye contact in surprise. "You'll just _wish_ I did." He screamed at her to get out and knelt down next to Sam, who could already manage a hoarse whisper.

"Mind if I get the others up first?" Sam shook his head. "I'll be right back." He gently roused the others, an easy feat now that Marie was gone.

Jo protested Dean's help. "Go help your brother, Dean. I can tell you want to." She shot him a wary smile and turned back to Ellen and Bobby.

Sam cleared his throat, whispered Dean's name. "Yeah?" Dean knelt at his side.

"You okay?" Sam squeaked softly.

"I'm fine, Sam." The younger hunter was pointing at Dean's head, though. Dean put his hand to where the searing pain in his head was most concentrated.

"Oh," He said simply at the sight of the sticky redness on his fingers. "It's not _that_ bad."

**...**

Sam walked up to the front desk nervously. "Hi, what is your problem?" The receptionist asked.

Dean watched from the waiting room chairs as his brother held out his swollen wrist. They were at a 24 hour clinic, Bobby's suggestion, as a hospital included a large number of forms and questions the brothers were too tired to deal with.

"Hey! What's takin' so long, Shorty?" Dean called from his seat. Sam turned around and furrowed his eyebrows at him.

"What?" Dean questioned.

Sam just shook his head. The last time Dean had called Sam 'Shorty,' Sam had been nine, and at least a foot shorter than his older brother. "And an appointment for my brother, as well." He said quietly so Dean wouldn't hear.

"And his problems?"

"Head injury." Sam informed. "Maybe a concussion."

It was only a few minutes until Sam's name was called. He was led into a small room with a smiling nurse. "May I?" She asked. He held out his arm and she took it gently.

"That bad, huh?" She sympathized when Sam winced at the smallest touch. He nodded, about to respond when they were interrupted.

"Well, I want to _be_ there to see what's wrong!" The voice- so obviously Dean's- was arguing with a nurse.

"Sir, you won't have time. You're appointment will begin shortly."

"Wh- I don't have an appointment!" Dean retorted.

Sam's nurse sighed. "I have to deal with this." She didn't know it was Sam's brother, apparently, though it was clear when Sam poked his head out the door.

"Dean. I set you up for an appointment." Sam quickly cut in before Dean got too upset with the nurses.

He stopped arguing. "Why? Nothing's wrong with me, Sam! I'm just worried about you!"

"Your forms say head injury." The second nurse stated, reading off her clipboard.

"Listen," Sam came all the way out, hesitating when he noticed the entire waiting room was their audience. "Can he just come in my room with me?" The nurses shared a glance and finally nodded in consent.

"Fine, then. Come on, Dean-"

"What's going on out here?" A woman said softly. Her hair was in a braid and she wore a long white coat.

"Doctor!" Sam's nurse spoke in surprise. "We were just trying figure out a slight confusion."

"Is it figured out?" She smiled.

"Think so."

"Well, I came out to see Sam and Dean Smith- you wouldn't happen to be them would you?" She ushered them into one of the small rooms and asked Dean to sit in a chair in the corner.

"How did this happen, Sam?" She asked as she got busy.

Sam made eye contact with his brother and reeled off their cover story. "Biking accident. I didn't see where I was going, hit something and I fell off and landed wrong."

"And your brother?"

Sam blushed convincingly. "He's the something."

"I see. We're going to have to get that x-rayed." She helped Sam off the table. "I'll send in a nurse to check your brother."

Clutching his arm, Sam followed the doctor- her name was Dr. Watson- into a dark room next-door, leaving his brother alone with a young blonde nurse.

"You're not going to make me strip down, are you?" Dean asked in a way that only he could make come across as charming and not blunt and awkward.

She laughed softly. "No, but I will shine a bright light in your eyes." He opened his eye wide as she flicked on the flashlight. the light burned into his pupil. Suddenly, Dean heard a yelp of pain from the room Sam was currently in.

He tensed immediately, swatting the light away and starting to stand up. "It's fine." She told him, sitting him back down so she could finish. "Dr. Watson must've had to set the bone first."

**...**

Sam had broken things before, sprained them, and stitched things up, but never before something this bad. "You broke it in three places." Dr. Watson explained, showing both brothers the pictures of Sam's arm.

"We cast it. It'll have to be redone eventually once the swelling goes down, but we couldn't wait on this one."

As for Dean, it was described as a mild concussion, and when questioned about the stitches he'd had done by Jo earlier so the bleeding would stop ("Oh, quit being such a baby!" She had teased.) he had to make a quick explanation about how he'd gotten it done somewhere else.

"They sure did a sloppy job." Dr. Watson commented. The brothers were sent away with instructions on how to care for their injuries.

"Dean- should you be driving with a concussion?"

Dean looked over the hood of the car at his brother. "Really, Sam?"

"I'm just saying, it's dangerous."

"Oh, and _you're_ gonna drive?"

"Yes."

"With a broken arm?" That shut him up.

"Fine. But if you get dizzy or-or you're about to pass out-"

"I'll drive faster." Dean said sarcastically. They both ducked in and Dean faced his brother after turning the key in the ignition.

"Let me see," He held out his hand for Sam's cast.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked, wincing as Dean held it steady. He reached over and opened the glovebox, digging around for something.

"What're you-" Sam started. Dean put the pen in his mouth and pulled off the cap with his teeth.

"What does it look like? Signing your cast, Bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Careful what you write, Jerk. It's permanent."

Dean scrawled something quickly, and when he threw the pen into the backseat and put the car in reverse, Sam got his first look.

"_Dude- you scared me back there_." He'd written. "_Don't you dare die. Ever. Or I'll kill you_."

Sam couldn't help but smile.

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><p><strong>Pretty relaxed ending. Things are dying down for the Winchesters. Any reviews, etc. are always welcome. One more chapter to go!<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen chapters and we're finally here: The Final Installment in Of Brothers and Bloody Messes. Thanks to those who stuck with me the whole time and to those who stumbled upon the story and joined in along the way! I appreciate all the reviews, alerts, and favorites, too! I won't keep you any longer!**

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><p>"We're back!" Dean called as he opened the door and escorted his brother inside. Bobby looked up, as did Jo, but with a flinch and a wince as her mother growled, "Hold still, Jo!"<p>

"How's everyone?" Sam asked, worriedly glancing at the gash down Jo's shoulder, currently being tended to by Ellen. He'd been whisked away with Dean quickly, without much of a chance to hear about his friends' conditions.

"I'm 'bout ready to head out." Bobby announced, his army green bag already slung over his shoulder. "Just waiting for you idgits to get back."

"Are you okay?" Even Dean noticed how soft and sincere he sounded as he frowned worriedly at Jo's wound.

"Nothing I can't handle." She replied bravely. "_Ooh_, is that a cast?"

Sam held up his arm. "Oh, yeah. Just for a few weeks. Then I go back." Ellen finished and Jo stood to admire it. "I get to sign, right?"

"Uh, sure, yeah, if you want to." Dean handed over a sharpie, which the young hunter took eagerly. She stifled a laugh as she began to write.

"What?" Sam tried to turn his head to see where she was looking.

"Nothing. It's just- did Dean write _both_of these?"

"What d'you... _Dean_!"

Dean laughed out loud, smiling at Sam, who returned the grin. It was nice to see his brother happy again, even if it was at his own expense. "What does it say?" Bobby questioned.

"It says, 'Sam Winchester always-"

"Heavens, Sam! You weren't going to say it out loud!" Ellen interrupted. "_Hon_estly, you boys. Even letting him write it in the first place."

Now it was Sam's turn to laugh. "Like I'd let him write something like that!"

"He fell asleep in the car!" Dean defended himself, shrugging.

"You don't- you aren't- that's a lie, right Sam?" Jo asked, half joking, and half noticeably worried. "You wouldn't actually-"

"Hell, no," Sam replied. "Not for a million bucks."

"Really?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Well..."

The chair squeaked as Bobby stood up. "On that note, I'll be out of here." They all said their quick goodbyes before Dean was trying to convince Sam to rest, and Sam the same of his concussed and drained older brother, a hint of worry still prominent in his voice, even after the ominous threat had disappeared.

**...**

Sam woke groggily to the sound of a siren wailing as it grew closer and closer.

"Dean," He groaned, opening his eyes and rolled on his side to face his brother's bed, where he expected to see the hunter still knocked out. Instead, he faced some ruffled sheets and a dip in the mattress.

"_Dean_!" He repeated, instantly panicking. _Not again, not again_. He flipped out of bed and onto the floor, instinctively putting both hands up to stop himself. "Ah!" He wrenched his arm back up, grabbing the cast painfully and stumbling to his feet.

"Dean?" He shouted, as if just remembering what the worry was about in the first place.

He ran towards the bathroom, almost running into his wet brother as he opened the door.

"Woah! Sam!" Dean took a step back.

"You're okay," Sam breathed.

Dean gestured to his damp hair and the towel pitched over the shower curtain bar. "Yeah, man, I just took a shower. Chill."

"I thought... The siren... I didn't know." He stuttered.

Dean leaned against the doorway, releasing a small sigh as he faced Sam. "You don't have to worry, Sam. I'm fine, you're fine, and it's all history, right?" Sam nodded.

"I was just scared."

"I know." Dean pushed of the door frame and brushed past Sam.

"Get dressed, we're leaving soon." He added.

Gladly, Sam thought. The sooner they were back in the Impala driving to a job the sooner he'd feel normal again, like when he first joined in when Dad disappeared. There was just one difference.

"I'll be right back." He told Dean as he pulled his shirt over his head. "It'll just take a second."

"Wereshoegoring," Dean spoke through the foam of his toothpaste while Sam threw on his jacket. "Yeah," Sam said, shaking his head and waving it off. He opened the door and walked out into the cold air.

"13 B, 13 B..." He muttered, turning a few corners. He stopped as he rounded the corner, flanked by number 13 B and facing none other than...

"Ruby."

"Alive and in the flesh." She smirked and moved closer. "Well, alive per _say_." She held out a flask with a smile. "I see you got my text. Didn't think you'd make it."

Sam held up his casted arm and she raised her eyebrows:

"Dean-o still playin' along?" She asked.

"He doesn't know anything." Sam answered, eyeing the metal in his hand.

Ruby read his mind. "Go ahead."

Sam twisted the lid off and took a deep sip, licking his lips as he secured the cap again, stowing the piece in the pocket of his jacket.

"Thanks," He finally said. They stood in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say. "I better go." Sam stated.

"Sure." Ruby replied.

Sam turned and began walking back towards their room. "Hey!" Ruby called. Sam turned to face her and she winked. "I'll see you soon." He nodded and hurried back to his room.

"I asked you where you were going." Dean told him as he entered.

"Well, it wasn't very obvious through the toothpaste."

Dean shoved his last shirt into the duffel  
>bag in front of him. "Damn, Sammy, your cast necessities take up a lot of space." Sam nodded, staring off into space.<p>

"Well?" Dean asked. "Sam!"

"What?" Sam jumped. "Oh, I went to the car to grab my toothbrush. It wasn't there."

"Dude, it was in the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah."

Dean shook his head, giving the room a once over so they didn't forget anything. "Are you sure I'm the one with the head injury?"

**...**

Dean turned the wheel, pulling off an exit and into a small town. Sam sat up. "What're you doing?"

"See the sign back there?"

"You mean the one that said "Denver- Exit 234? This is 215!"

"No. The one that said 'World's Greatest Apple Pie- Exit 215'"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Sam. _Live_a little! Just go back to sleep. We're passing through."

Sam closed his eyes. Just for a minute, he told himself. He opened his eyes again just a couple minutes later, surprised to find himself surrounded by blackness and stars instead of the fading sunlight he'd left behind only a few minutes ago.

"Finally," Dean spoke over the rock music. Sam looked up at the flickering sign mounted on the building:** DICK'S DINER**

"Don't even." He spoke before Dean could crack a single joke. He just grinned, muttering so only Sam could hear and strategically causing him to hold in a laugh at the most inappropriate moments as they walked in.

"Welcome to Dick's!" The waitress exclaimed. "We have a great selection of breakfast, lunch, and dinner served all day, every day-"

"Excuse me- Debbie," He read her name tag. "Skip the intro and get us some of that World's Greatest Apple Pie."

"Sure thing, sweetie." She chomped on her gum while jotting down the order.

"A-actually, I don't want one." Sam interrupted, embarrassed when she scribbled it out loudly.

Dean gave him a look. "Look, Dean, I just don't want pie right no-"

"He'll have the..." Dean glanced at the menu and squinted to read. "Double Fudgy Pudgy Ice Cream Sundae Extravaganza."

"Sprinkles or nuts?" Dean turned to Sam for advice, but the hunter just shrugged.

"Both..." Dean stage whispered dramatically, winking.

"Coming right up."

"Why are we even here, Dean?"

"Come on, a Pie in Seventy Five miles sign is hardly something to ignore."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, a real bonding moment."

By the time the brothers were finished, the entire place was empty, save them, Debbie, Dick himself, and an old woman he was conversing with.

"Thanks for coming!" Debbie shouted across the room. Dick looked up.

"Debbie Baby, that is hardly the way to treat our final guests of the evening!" He walked over, the woman trailing him.

"Sorry, 'bout that!" He apologized in a very cheery voice. "My mother didn't need to see that." He added, putting his arm around her. "She supports me in my business."

"When I first saw my Dick, I knew he'd be big and famous." Sam turned an unconfined laugh into a cough as Dean attempted to stifle a laugh.

"Aw, Ma, I'm not famous. I'm just a simple restaurant owner."

"We better be going." Sam said loudly as Dean deadpanned in his ear.

"Take care!" The old lady called, waving.

The brothers waited until the door earshot behind them before cracking up. "And that is why people shouldn't name their children Dick in the 21st century." Dean explained.

Sam chuckled. Maybe he and Dean had been through thick and thin, but somehow the older man had kept his sense of humor through it all.

Sam knew things weren't the same as when they were young. He was working with Ruby, drinking demon blood, but no matter what Dean said, he knew it was worth it. At the same time, he thought, watching Dean turn up AC/DC with a smile, nothing had changed. They were brothers, and no matter how bloody their next mess to clean up would be, they always would be.

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><p><strong>Thanks for everything, guys! I had so much fun writing this! And to those with the author alerts this isn't the end! ;) Thanks again!<strong>

**-SupernaturalFanPerson**


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